The Thrill and the Hurting
by Harmonic Friction
Summary: Sansa slips into shadows. She can play Joffrey's games or perish on his horrific playground. She realizes she must invent a new persona to suit her mad king's desires. Joffrey is plagued by unsettling flashbacks that may explain his gruesome hobbies. As the memories become more vivid,he must face a very dark secret he repressed during childhood. Now they play in shadows. Together.
1. Part One: Prologue, The Lesson

**Warning - **This is a fic written to realistically portray two characters (Joffrey and Sansa) who have dealt with abuse in different ways. There will be a bit of nonconsensual sex, and I'm not supporting that. Rather, I'm trying to show the cycle of abuse and its harmful effects on people. There will be moments that are something like romance, but mostly it is a deeply disturbing fic that is dark and focuses on Sansa's mental breakdown (specifically, her Stockholm Syndrome and PTSD) and Joffrey's various ailments (including something akin to Conduct Disorder, not to mention PTSD and sexual sadism). I know psychological drama isn't everyone's bag, but I hope those who read this enjoy it.

**Alternate Universe, **as Joffrey and Sansa have a sexual relationship. Also gives Joffrey a backstory that's not in canon. Sansa is 15 and Joffrey is 16. Margaery is 18. Other characters are their book ages. Characterization based off the novels. Story based off the HBO series.

Credit for title: Kate Bush, "never be mine".

Rated: **Mature. Includes: Dominance/Submission, Stockholm Syndrome (and its effects on an abuse victim's psyche), scenes of sexual abuse (including torture, sexual sadism, and non-graphic references to child abuse), violence (including at least two instances of graphic "M rated" character death), non-graphic references of harm to animals/children, incest, underage characters participating in sex acts, and older characters having sexual/romantic thoughts about underage characters.**

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The Thrill

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and

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the Hurting

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Chapter One: Lessons

_Prologue_

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SANSA

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SANSA STARK used to wish she had never left Winterfell, and before that (so, so long ago) she used to daydream about being anywhere _but_ Winterfell. She'd thought King's Landing sounded like a spectacular, beautiful place with actual lords, ladies, kings, queens and knights, instead of her boring siblings, nagging Mother, and annoyingly protective Father. Sansa would sit in her lessons and dream of her future somewhere bigger and brighter than Winterfell, somewhere she'd be recognized for the perfect lady she knew she was deep down. Sansa's wishes as a young girl were very exact: she wanted a comfortable home, a handsome and gallant husband, and exactly three children (two girls and one boy).

When she turned thirteen, those dreams she focused so heavily on each night while praying to the Gods, those dreams she thought about during sewing with her Septa, those dreams she'd figured could only happen in ages and ages, were going to soon be a reality! Sansa was informed that she may have an impending betrothal and all the more exciting was the fact that her husband-to-be (if all went according to planned) was not simply a knight or a lord. He was Joffrey Baratheon, of the houses Baratheon and Lannister, heir and prince of Westeros! Joffrey's father was Sansa's father's best friend, _King _Robert, and Sansa just knew in her heart that she would fall in love with Prince Joffrey the moment she saw him. How could she not? She knew he would be handsome, nurturing and kind, just as she'd always hoped her future love would be. When she badgered her parents for information about the prince's looks and his favorite activities and foods, they soon grew unresponsive. Her father finally admitted he did not know much, except he recalled Joffrey had taken after his mother, sporting green eyes and hair of Lannister gold. Sansa knew he'd be beautiful, she just _knew. _Jon Snow, Father's bastard son, mockingly told her he'd heard from Theon the prince was a cunt who looked like a pretty girl. Infuriated and tearful, Sansa knew right then how different she was from those in her family, and how much she needed to be in King's Landing with Joffrey, her one true love. How soon Sansa's dreams changed.

From the moment Sansa saw Joffrey ride in proudly on his stallion, she knew there was no other way she could live her life but be Joffrey's bride, his future queen. He jumped effortlessly off his horse and smiled straight at Sansa and she felt her heart melt into a puddle inside her chest. He was perfect. She looked excitedly to her little sister Arya for approval but Arya was far more interested in where Joffrey's uncle, the "Imp", had gone. Sansa shushed her sister and focused on the handsome boy before her. Prince Joffrey was tall and straight-backed with gleaming white teeth and gorgeous blond curls that made it look like he was already wearing a crown, or even a halo. His eyes were expressive and his forehead wasn't too large, and he was dressed in the finest Southern garb, a velvet riding coat in Lannister red and well-polished riding boots. Sansa was instantly in love, and she fell even harder when Joffrey protected her from two of his men, a frightening mute by the name of Ser Illyn Payne and his sworn shield, a badly burned and scary man named Clegane who Joffrey coolly referred to as his "Dog". Her heart beat in her chest when Joffrey invited her to ride with him around Winterfell for the purpose of getting to know him. It was the perfect afternoon. They rode their horses (Joff riding so fast Sansa struggled to catch up, he was just too _talented _at riding), played in the shadow cat caves near the river, feasted on a lovely picnic, and drank more wine than Sansa had ever had in her life. _"My betrothed can drink as much as she likes," _Joffrey had said in an important voice that made Sansa's heart swell, and he let her drink more and more of the sweet red liquid from his leather pouch. Joffrey was only a few years her senior but he acted in charge, like a real man. She listened to his stories and his sweet singing, and when the light began to disappear behind the clouds she wondered aloud if they should go back to the castle. She'd had far too much wine and felt too dizzy, too daring. Joff hadn't wanted to, and Sansa needed to appeal to her betrothed so she'd agreed. She should have insisted they hurry back. But how could she have known?

They'd heard a strange noise beyond the brambles, and Joffrey wanted to investigate, promising he would take care of her if danger arose. Clinging to his arm, Sansa almost wished there _would _be danger. That way, her valiant and beautiful prince could save her and it would be just like the ballads. But instead of dragons or ruffians or bears, it was only stupid Arya and her stupid friend Micah. Sansa was instantly embarrassed, especially when Arya spoke to Joff like he was a commoner instead of a future king. Arya was always making Sansa's life a terror, always messing up everything with her willfulness. Joffrey seemed to think that Arya and Micah's stick "sword-fighting" was funny and he'd swaggered right over, his voice loud and bold and his speech slightly slurred. Then suddenly, he was using his own sword, his real sword that he'd named Lion's Tooth, on Micah's cheek. A thin river of blood sprang up and Micah cried out. Sansa's head felt woozy as she watched the scene unfold before her eyes: Arya springing to Micah's defense, Joff swinging his sword at Arya's head and shouting awful, nasty words (Sansa had never imagined her future husband saying such things), and then Nymeria had dove in, ever protective just like Arya herself. Before Sansa could so much as scream, Nymeria had Joff's arm in her great jaws and she was tearing at his skin. There was so much blood, and Sansa yelled at them all to _stop, stop, stop. _Arya tossed Lion's Tooth into the water and ran off and Nymeria followed. Enraged, confused and scared, Sansa rushed to her poor prince's side, ready to offer support, aid, anything he wanted. But when Prince Joffrey looked up at her, his large green eyes were flashing in a dangerous way. _"Don't touch me," _he'd spat and Sansa had backed away, tears springing into her eyes as she went for help.

Then, the horrors happened. Prince Joffrey lied to his mother, the Queen, and said that Micah and Arya had attacked _him. _Sansa feigned ignorance. She did not want to displease Joffrey, and perhaps she'd had too much wine? Perhaps she was remembering events differently? He had a great bandage wrapped round his arm and the Queen said the direwolf who'd scarred him had to die but Nymeria could not be found. Instead, it was decided that Lady would be put to death. The first piece of Sansa broke that day.

In the weeks that followed, Sansa's thoughts were all over. She deeply wanted to marry Joffrey and so she tried to put Lady (and later, Micah, who she learned had been slaughtered by Joffrey's Dog) out of her mind. After all, Lady was Arya's fault. The rift between she and her little sister grew deeper when her father _finally _decided he would be King Robert's hand and travel to King's Landing. The betrothal was on and Sansa was overjoyed. But Joffrey would not even look upon her anymore. When she caught his eyes, he only sneered. _"What did I do?" _Sansa wailed to her Septa, to her father, to Arya, but after the first week no one wanted to hear her woes. Queen Cersei was the only person who gave Sansa encouragement. _"He's a very sweet boy," _the Queen said, _"but he's also very moody. I think he was displeased you saw him become injured, and I am certain he was embarrassed he was attacked in front of you by two children so much younger than him. He's very proud. See if you cannot make him happy by telling him how good and brave he is. That is my advice." _Sansa did not bother mentioning that Joffrey had not been attacked by anyone except Nymeria, who was only defending her sister. She loved Cersei. The Queen was beautiful and made Sansa feel grown up. At least, that was then.

Sansa began to drop praise on Joffrey whenever she could. She clapped at tourneys when he did. She complimented his grand clothes, his horses, his home. Soon, he was smiling again, and he even gifted her a wonderful pendant and _kissed _her. His mouth was smooth and firm and he threaded his hands through her hair. Everything was perfect again.

When King Robert tragically died and it was announced Joffrey was being groomed for the crown, Sansa could not be happier. But then Father was in trouble. He'd questioned Joffrey's right to the throne; _why would he do that? _He was locked away below the castle and Sansa could not believe her bad luck, _what was Father doing, why was he spoiling her happiness when everything was supposed to be perfect? _She just wanted everyone to get along and celebrate her marriage to her handsome prince. They were going to rule happily and all the townspeople would adore them and they'd have three beautiful blond green-eyed children, two girls and one boy.

That was three months ago, before the newly crowned King Joffrey had blatantly ignored Sansa's urgent plea for her father's pardon and had commanded Father's head be chopped off right there in front of the entire population of King's Landing. Right in front of Sansa's eyes. A large piece of Sansa broke that day, and more chipped away when it was announced Arya had gone missing, and that Sansa now belonged to King's Landing- belonged to King Joffrey as collateral for a potential bargain with Winterfell. When King Joffrey gloatingly showed off Father's head, stinking and rotted on a pike outside the castle gates, Sansa had become numb. Joffrey was no hero, no valiant king. He was a beast.

Yet, losing her maidenhead changed everything. It changed Sansa's way of thinking and she was certain now it had changed Joffrey's. In the night, they were each other's and in the day, sometimes he was a boy and other times he was a cruel creature Sansa could not quite decipher. If Sansa was good, she would get a reward. If she was bad, she'd be punished. She'd learned to savor those happy moments when she pleased Joffrey. If she could figure out how to keep him happy forever, perhaps she would stay alive.

..

JOFFREY

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KING JOFFREY BARATHEON was not exactly certain how the predicament with Sansa Stark had begun. He'd meant for it to be a lesson to his mother and now he was worried he might actually have tender feelings for Sansa. Nasty, loving, tender feelings. It had happened slowly but steadily over the course of a few months, and although he was feeling ill about it he couldn't stop. He couldn't stay away from her room. He watched her every move, tongue waggling out like a snake's—hungry. Curious. He was even beginning to look forward to the evenings, to the darkness that ensured they would be together alone, without interruptions. (_I've done a bad thing, Mother_.) He'd gone against the rules and he'd spoiled Sansa's maidenhead and he'd meant to stop after that but he could not get away from her. He couldn't stop filling Sansa up. Not even now.

_Mother started it all,_ Joffrey decided. She had encouraged him to break the code of conduct, she'd brought it on herself because she doubted him. She started it with the way she pranced about as if it was she who owned the kingdom, like it was she who held the power and esteem in her greedy ivory hands. Joffrey surmised that had Cersei been a good and quiet mother, he'd have left Sansa alone until their impending marriage because there would have been nothing to prove. But Cersei, as much as he loved her (he still did, after all, even now), was a meddling cold-hearted cunt who needed to be bested. Because King Joffrey had the crown and the throne and Mother did not. This was something that needed to be understood by everyone in King's Landing. Especially Cersei.

The initital excitement of having a pretty princess by his side was soiled before it even really started. Joffrey could not stand public humiliation; it turned him defensive and made him scream, drove him into a furious rage that left his siblings crying and his parents grappling for an answer. Joffrey was a boy who wanted to be respected, who lived for praise and pretty words, and when he was seen as anything other than heroic he fell apart like his sister's mutilated dollies. Joffrey fancied Sansa because Sansa was supposed to be his one and only love. She was beautiful, with bright eyes and flowing crimson hair. When they met, she watched him with delight, with worship- just as anyone woman should look upon her future husband. Yes, Sansa looked upon him with adoration but then, all of a sudden, she'd seen him cry. It was not his fault, of course. He'd been mercilessly attacked by two other children _and _a direwolf had been set on him! He'd been horribly scarred and the pain had been excruciating. She'd seen him erupt in frustration and hot anger. She'd seen him in a fragile moment before he'd even had a chance to kiss her, and for this she needed to be punished.

Joffrey suddenly did not love Sansa Stark. Joffrey detested her with everything he had inside of him.

_Why, why, why does she have to come with? Do I really have to marry her? She's ghastly, she's horrible,_ he shouted at his mother but unlike other tantrums, this one did not change much of anything. Joffrey spent the following days hating Sansa more and more. Certainly, she was good-looking but he hated her voice, absolutely loathed her obnoxious diction and her carefully worded sentences. He hated how she cut her food and how she apologized profusely for every movement she made. He started blocking her out and the only times he cared about what she was saying were the times he caught her muttering under her breath.

Joffrey refused to learn anything about Sansa Stark, even though his mother said this would be a good idea and a privilege she'd never had with his father. Cersei encouraged him to ask her questions: Did she have hobbies? What colours did she prefer? Did she sing or sew or tell stories? _She's a stupid girl_, Joffrey told his mother hotly, _so what else is there to know?_

Joffrey wasn't interested in bedding Sansa, not anymore, not at all. Being interested in Sansa would give the power of being desired and Joffrey wasn't willing to give her any of that. There had been some fascination with her body and looks initially. He'd imagined putting himself inside her, wondered if perhaps Sansa would take him in her mouth and whether she'd scream and cry when he did all the things he'd envisioned doing with a woman. Joffrey wanted to put his hands on her neck and pinch her. He wanted to bite her lip and push his fingers inside her, hear her say his name in awe. He wanted to take complete control of Sansa. But now that she was at King's Landing, he couldn't be bothered. He didn't like her excessive, sickening kindness. He didn't respect her family. He didn't like how Eddard Stark had stolen his father's heart and soul, that Father cared for Ned more than Joffrey and especially that he did not hide this fact from anyone. Joffrey absolutely hated Ned Stark, hated the light in Father's eyes when he recalled stories of he and Ned's past together.

Joffrey focused on his regular activities. He perfected his crossbow marksmanship on songbirds, launched pebbles into the stable to watch the horses buck up, tripped maids in the hallways, and broke Tommen's toys. He mocked his Hound's face and dumped wine in Myrcella's lap. He ignored Sansa Stark. When she looked his way, he grimaced. When she tried to smile at him, he sneered.

Mother said, _be nice_. Mother said, _no matter what, she is to be your queen and you must treat her like a queen. I know you are ashamed but there is no need to be. You are strong. You are a handsome, brilliant prince and you'll be a fine ruler. Be a good boy, Joffrey. Be my sweet boy and be courteous to our guest, your future wife_. So Joffrey tried to block out the jealous thoughts and do what was right. He even decided to kiss Sansa. If he was going to have to _be nice_, he wanted to get something out of it. He had to be honest. He liked the feeling of his lips on hers, of his hands on her waist, of complete control. Most of all, he liked the look in her eyes. The look that said, 'you can do anything you want to me because I trust you.' This was an improvement from babying him, from seeing him cry. Joffrey decided, _well_, it could be worse.

And then, Father died without any warning and Joffrey was suddenly being groomed for the crown. There were bigger issues than his impending marriage with Sansa, like her father trying to steal his title, trying to ruin everything just as he'd ruined Robert. When Sansa knelt before Joffrey and begged for her father's mercy, Joffrey was pleased. Now this was a wife, this was a respectful, dutiful girl. But a girl who thought she had any place to change a king's mind needed to be taught a lesson and so Joffrey had Eddard Stark's head removed from his body ( he'd never forget the sinewy neck being clipped by strong metal, the body twitching slightly, the dark red blood). He liked how Sansa stared, tears rolling down her face, as she realized that he, King Joffrey, was in charge and she was not. At least Sansa was beginning to understand.

The idea of a marriage to her became less terrible. It was something he had to do and so it became a game. Joffrey wanted his future wife to be afraid. He wanted her to respect him and hate him and love him and hide from him all at once. He wanted her to hide from him because he wanted to find her. He wanted to see the fear in her eyes when he pulled her up by her hair and said, _Got you_. He wanted her to be completely consumed with thoughts of him, while he only took her when he pleased and put her away when he did not wish to see her. He had it all figured out, you see. Sansa had not bled yet, and so Joffrey made completely certain that while she was waiting to wed him, she would learn to respect him as deeply as possible. That way, she would be ready to please him.

He tortured her mercilessly but he also let her know when she looked attractive, because she should never forget how important it was to look pretty for him. _That _was a rule. He delighted in showing her Ned's disembodied head, traitorous eyes blank and mouth gaping in a forever apology. Joffrey liked the hatred in his bride-to-be's blue eyes, and he matched it with his own shining green stare, his lips grinning in amusement. Fix him with loathing? It was a challenge. And he would win. He was excited, more than he wanted to admit, while watching Ser Arys slap Sansa across the face. Just the thought of it made going to bed with Sansa seem like an easy task.

Joffrey did not know much about lying in bed with women properly but he knew what pleased him when he was alone. Beautiful thoughts of brutal punishments. Images of girls flogged and hog-tied, lying facedown on his canopied bed. Blood-soaked gowns. Large bosoms, long ringlets spread down nude backs, rivulets of plasma dripping out from the corners of their eye sockets. He'd stroke himself rapidly and then sigh in pleasure, letting go on his sheets or stomach while he dreamed about girls he could mutilate, girls nobody would ever miss. Joffrey wasn't his blasted Uncle Imp. He didn't love women like a weak, piteous fool. He hated women. (Hated them just like he hated wailing babies and cats and ugly people and rainy days and the smell of the pigs and unclean clothing and getting hurt and losing his words in the middle of a sentence and he hated women almost as much as he hated admitting defeat. And most of all, he hated that stupid Sansa Stark.)

Oh, but that was then.


	2. The Imp's Bidding

A/N: Reminder. Lemons ahead. Also, I really like reviews. *hint* _with love, Mr. Friction_

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Chapter Two: _Motherly Advice  
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On the first day, the day the predicament began (though at the time he thought he had control), Joffrey wore a scowl tight as a knot as Cersei scolded him. He sat and stared her down, eyes blazing, as she lectured him on his childishness, told him he was being foolhardy and impatient. He'd told Cersei to leave the ruling to him just yesterday and here she was, prattling on again. Joffrey recalled that as a young boy, he'd thought his mother was the most beautiful, smartest woman in the world. Now he realized that the world was much vaster than that, and that Cersei was not without fault. In fact, she was an aggravating, officious bitch. A bitch who'd struck him, and in front of his servants nonetheless! He figured she'd never try _that _again but it hadn't shut her up. Because now, Joffrey simpered, here she was rambling on again about nothing. _Diplomacy_, _matters of state, making alliances, proper court conduct, how to address the King's Guard—phooey. _He crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. The fact that Uncle Imp was Joffrey's hand (_some _hand_, he hardly had normal legs_) was enough punishment. Now Mother was trying to rule in Joffrey's place? It just would not stand.

When she set in again on the subject of Eddard Stark's head and what a "rash decision" that had been, Joffrey fixed her with a stony glare. "Stop talking," he commanded. "Are you inferring that Stark should have been kept alive? I told you, Mother. Such acts are considered punishable by death and as King I'd hate to make the people think my own family is free of such a penalty. That wouldn't be just or fair, would it? The people wouldn't like that. Would they?" he mocked.

"You know I stand by you fully, my sweet Joffrey," Mother said, with a nod, her smile as stony as Joffrey's eyes. "But I have to make certain you are counseled correctly—"

"See. That's where you're wrong. You don't stand _by _me," Joffrey interrupted, and his voice was sharp, "you stand _behind _me."

Mother's eyes clouded a bit and he hoped that she'd get the message and shut her foolish mouth. From what he'd been hearing lately, she used that mouth for a plethora of things: gossip, prying, directing around _his _men, and most recently, that she'd used her mouth on men besides his late father. Joffrey didn't care. In fact, he wished she'd go choke on a cock somewhere if that's what she really wanted; it would save him the trouble of hearing her. "I'm worried about you," was what spilled out of her lips next and Joffrey rolled his eyes. "No, listen—please listen. It seems everything has gotten a bit out of hand, and I merely wish to help you. Not only as queen regent but as your mother—"

"Be quick," Joffrey said with a wave of his hand and instead of looking at her he paced his chambers, surveying the arrows and old toys on his oak desk. He leaned on the wood, posing with one foot behind the other.

Cersei sat gingerly in the chair across from Joffrey's bed and placed her hands in the lap of her silken red gown, bowing her head so that her golden ringlets hung around her face. "Your uncle Tyrion told me about the…" She paused and tried again. "He told me about the prostitutes he bought you for your Name Day present," she said in a soft tone.

Joffrey snapped his head up, surveying her expression. Uncle Imp apparently not only took Joffrey for a fool but he took him for a small child, telling on him to Cersei like a big-mouthed kitchen maid. "And?" he snarled. "What do you have to say about it? I'd think with my father's habits, you'd be pleased to know what I did to them." A sneer formed on his lips as his mother met his eyes again.

"I wasn't pleased," Cersei said gravely. "What was your intention in treating them so?"

"My intention?" Joffrey chortled and turned his back again, brushing his finger across an arrow. Hot desire pulsed through his body again simply at the memory of the two whores, one bare-arsed and bellowing as the other pummeled her body with various blunt objects. "Tyrion bought them for me. They were my present. So I was using them as I pleased."

"You can be honest with me, Joffrey," his mother said. "Was it some sort of release, some way to get out anger?"

"I wasn't angry," Joffrey said calmly. "I was quite happy."

Cersei sighed. Even without looking, he knew she was tensing up, trying to stay patient. If he irritated her sufficiently at this point by playing dumb or answering her questions crassly, she'd leave soon enough. "Tyrion also told me about your treatment of little Sansa in front of the court, and that he suspected you only tortured those two girls to get back at him for intervening and Joffrey, I'm just not quite certain what you—"

Joffrey wheeled around, scowling. "Oh, so now you listen to the Imp? Now you do the Imp's bidding?" he shouted. "First him, and now you! I thought you were supposed to be on MY side, not HIS! Sansa is to be my wife and I don't even want to marry her but she's going to be my queen so she's mine! She's mine and I can do just what I want to her!"

"Aiming a crossbow at your betrothed's heart is not reasonable," Mother declared, standing. "You may not think you want to marry Sansa but she will make you a good queen. So please try to _treat_ her like a queen."

"I'll treat her just how I please," Joffrey said, his voice rising quickly into a piercing volume. "And if I want her stripped naked in front of me and beaten, then that is exactly what I shall do!"

"Committing acts like that…" She hesitated. "Well, you are free to do as you wish but it does not present the best image to the public, Joffrey—"

"She's _my _betrothed," Joffrey protested. "So I don't care what the public thinks!"

"You may wish to walk with caution, my sweet son," Cersei said in a soft tone. "Sansa is not yours yet. She has not flowered. As soon as you are wed—"

But Joffrey was not listening. "No," he argued. "She IS mine. I can do what I like to her. I can kill her if I like. I can have her whipped in front of the entire city. Strung up on a rope. And if the mood strikes me, I can take her before our wedding night and discard her like refuse."

"You cannot do that," Mother said firmly, and narrowed her gaze, green with envy for the throne, for the crown, for everything Joffrey had been born to.

"You're jealous," he said snidely.

"I'm your _mother,_" she snapped.

"Well, I'm the king." Joffrey replied. "I'll fuck her bloody." He smiled. "Try to stop me."

"You wouldn't touch Sansa," Mother clucked, shaking her head slowly. "You don't even wish to marry her. You are just a boy, Joffrey. I don't believe you."

Joffrey's mouth twitched, and his insides boiled with loathing. He knew right then that he had to teach her a lesson. King's Landing and all of its inhabitants belonged to him, not Cersei, not this weak-willed and foolish woman. She often told him he was too young for things, that he had to wait, and Joffrey was quite sure that on the contrary he could have whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it.

"Enough," he simpered after what seemed like all the hours of the day. "I've heard just about enough of you for now. You are dismissed. Go find someone else to annoy."

"I'm looking out for your best intentions," said the queen regent in a low voice. "I love you."

Joffrey nodded. "I know, Mother. I love you, too. But leave me before I get my Hound to drag you out. You won't like that."

Mother fixed him with a last stern glance before storming out of his chambers, her skirts fluttering out behind her. And sitting there, his face burning with the sting of his mother's disbelieving words, he decided that he was going to have his way with Sansa Stark that night. And that was that.

. . .

He thought about it all afternoon, sitting grandly on the throne and biting his lip in deliberation. Should he request her presence in the garden, command the guards to leave and drive himself between her legs right there on the cobblestone footpath? Should he instruct Sansa to arrive at his chambers and have his way with her there? Grab her by her hair and spit venom into her mouth while driving his hand inside her?

The problem was, he wasn't exactly certain how to go about his plan. He knew the basic idea of fucking. He knew he had to put his dick inside. That was about the end of it, but he had ideas. Joffrey imagined sex in animalistic terms. He wanted to coil around Sansa like the prey to his predator. He wanted to tear her to pieces and devour her body. He wanted to scare her. He wanted to mark her with his scent forever; he wanted to ruin her for the world. Because Cersei was right about one thing: If Joffrey had Sansa before their marriage, before she could bear him an heir, Sansa _would_ be ruined if either of them told. Sansa would no longer be a maiden. But, Joffrey reasoned, if it was he who stripped her of that status, what was the difference anyway? She was to be his wife. She was his property anyway.

_However_... He stroked his chin in thought and swung one leg over the other, glad he had a proper place to do his deep thinking. If Joffrey went through with this plan and fucked Sansa, he wouldn't be able to boast. It would have to be a silent lesson to his mother, something he could think about when she infuriated him. Something he could keep a secret from her. And because Cersei hated when other people had secrets, most of all her family, Joffrey decided this was a wonderful plan.

During dinner, Joffrey stared at Sansa with a wildcat smile. He kept thinking, _You. I'm going to have you for my own. _He'd long imagined sleeping with her but in his mind, it was different. In his mind, he knew everything there was to know and he did everything right. Now, he hated to admit he was finding himself doubting his abilities, obsessing over details. He studied her shimmering hair, her gown of deep green, and the ladylike way she held her hands and smiled dutifully at those around her. She caught him staring and gave him a respectful dip of her head. He looked at her fixedly, a look that said _I have plans for you, _and Sansa grew wary of him and broke eye contact. This should have granted him confidence, but Joffrey's hand shook slightly as he poured more wine. When Cersei patted his leg, he nearly spilt his goblet all over the plate of food before him. She whispered in his ear that she was sorry for her anger earlier and that she knew he'd take her advice.

Joffrey smiled widely at her, all the time thinking she was completely demented, _as if_ this paltry peace offering would change his attitude.


	3. A Far Better Plan

Chapter Three: _A Far Better Plan_

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_.._

JOFFREY

..

* * *

The young king felt that time moved slower than ever that evening. He restlessly waited in his room until he heard the guards shifting position for the night. As quickly as he could, he made the walk toward the corridor that led to Sansa's chamber. He pressed his ear to her door to make certain she was alone, his footsteps echoing in the dim hallway.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice a high, nervous sound in the chill air. It sent a shiver of want through Joffrey and that was enough. He knew she was all by herself, knew she wouldn't sound so anxious if she was in the presence of some servant. He shoved the door open and strode inside, plastering a dark smile on his face to hide the twisted-up worm feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Ever courteous, on shaky knees Lady Sansa fell into a curtsy at once. "Your grace! I'm not decent!" she sputtered. It was true, he noted. She was anything but decent in comparison to their usual encounters, encounters that were often spoiled by snooping relatives and crowds of foolish onlookers. His lady was donning a white, flowing but slightly sheer nightgown that made Joffrey's breath catch in his throat. He could see the outline of her nipples dotting the curved lines of her full breasts, the wave where her waist met her hips, her bare legs and feet milky beneath. He was instantly reminded of having her partially stripped in court, but she'd been quick enough to hold her gown back before it fully exposed her breasts. Joffrey recalled the uncomfortable erection that had grown while Ser Boros and Ser Meryn proceeded to beat Sansa, her red, humiliated face hung in shame. And when Tyrion had interrupted, Joffrey had felt his insides drop, angry he hadn't been able to see Sansa's naked body. He'd gotten off that very night thinking about a progression of the scene, one that ended with her stripped and crying with bloody welts designing her naked back.

And then, Sansa spoke again, bringing him back to reality. "I thought… I thought we could not be alone. Where are your men, your grace?"

King Joffrey's mouth was open but no sound was coming out. For the past two hours, he'd rehearsed a speech in his head. It was grand and lengthy, detailing how Sansa was his just as much as all the palace horses, just as much as the Hound was his and the throne was his. (_As much as the entire palace belongs to me, and everyone inside of it! Do you hear me?_ he would scream, and bring his hands to her throat before shoving himself inside her.) He was going to have Sansa there in the moonlight because he felt like it and there was nothing she could say to stop him. He was going to fuck her without caring, because kings could do what they pleased no matter what the rules were.

But now, all Joffrey could do was stare at Sansa's body. It was as though a very beautiful painting was being presented to him, and the artist had removed a sheet from the masterpiece with a flourish. Sansa without her layers of dress, skirts and ribbons and her hair down in loose curls around her thin shoulders was a very different Sansa indeed. Better than a fantasy. Innocent virgin Sansa, a much better prize for a king than two overused prostitutes. Beguiled by Sansa's curves, Joffrey suddenly felt young. Young and over-dressed.

"Please, your grace! It just doesn't seem right," Sansa said, eyes all wide like moons, and she covered her breasts with spread fingers.

"Shut up," Joffrey managed to get out in a vicious, spitty snarl. It was a good start, but instead of making the words come this demand halted them again. His tongue felt weighty. The back of his neck was damp with sweat, and he was starting to think perhaps this was something he could not do. But this personal challenge had to be overcome and so he drew a breath, Sansa giving him that wide and strange stare the entire time. He meant to deliver his speech but what came out was: "_They_ said. My _mother_. She _can't_. You are _mine_. So I'm going to. I'm going to..."

Sansa backed up a pace, not taking her eyes off him. "I really can't understand you," she said. And then quickly, "I'm sorry, but-"

"_Shut up, _I said!" he got out, and because it wasn't working to stand still, he made a move to attack. He clomped forward in his heavy boots (half-nervous someone would burst in to reprimand Sansa for making such noise and see him failing at rape of all things) and he seized her by her soft hair. Sansa made a squeal of protest and he held her in a strong grip, pressing his cheek against hers. Sansa's face was pleasantly smooth and he could feel her heart beating hard and fast in her chest. She whimpered and shut her eyes tight, shaking her head back and forth.

"I don't understand," she said, panicked. "We shouldn't be here together, it's indecent. It's improper. We're not married, your grace, please wait until we're married, your mother-"

"She can't control my life!" Joffrey said instantly. It was as though he'd forgotten his line in a performance in front of the court and Sansa had slipped him a subtle cue. "That's why we have to do this right now. Because I'm the king and the king can do as he pleases. The king can have who he wants, and I want you. I'm tired of waiting and I'm not going to bed a whore in the meantime. I refuse to lower myself, do you understand my words?"

"I don't understand," Sansa whimpered, her eyes still closed. "I'm so sorry, your grace—but I don't know what you mean to do—I can't offer you anything until I've had my blood—"

"Open your eyes when you're speaking to me," Joffrey hissed and gripped her chin with his fingernails.

Sansa cried out but complied, her blue eyes fluttering open, connecting with his shining jade stare. "Yes, your grace! I have not had my blood, I wouldn't be any use to you. Please wait, and I can give you an heir and-"

"It's not about an heir, don't you see, you stupid girl?" Joffrey interrupted, grabbing her lips with his fingers and squeezing them shut. "I want you because they say I can't have you yet—"

"There are reasons, your grace, it's not good for a king to do this to his future queen, it's bad luck—"

"You think I believe all of your make believe superstitions?" Joffrey sniggered, giving her a gentle pat on the cheek. "Sometimes I think you make all of them up to try and confuse me."

Sansa let out a shuddering sob. "I wouldn't dothat," she trembled. "Besides, your grace? Don't you wish to wait? Wouldn't it please you more?"

"Did you hear about my Name Day present?" Joffrey asked conversationally, recalling his conversation with Mother while petting her face. "My uncle sent for two whores. They were waiting for me when I arrived in my bed chambers." He smiled fondly at the memory. "They were pretty."

"How nice for you," said Sansa in a quiet voice. "I hope you enjoyed yourself, your grace. You deserve to be happy."

"I _did _enjoy myself," Joffrey said. He ran one long finger across Sansa's freckle-dusted cheek. "Of course, I didn't go to bed with them. Tyrion wanted me to and I thought, why listen to someone else when I can have fun in the exact way I please? That's why I taught him a lesson." He flicked Sansa's face lazily with his nail. "Do you want to know _how _I taught him a lesson?"

"Yes, your grace. Very much," Sansa said with a dutiful nod.

"I had one of the girls beat the other senseless and then had her body dumped at Tyrion's door." He watched as Sansa's frightened gaze flicked about the room and fell back upon him. "You should have heard her cry. It was a very nice evening, all things considered."

"Is she alive?" Sansa bleated and then covered her own mouth.

Joffrey scowled. "That's not the point," he growled, wrenching her hand away. "I'm not my father. I won't climb into bed with every half-witted slut who parades about my room with her cunt out."

"I suppose that's very dignified of you," Sansa said, averting her gaze once more. Her face looked flushed. She was shaking.

"You suppose?" asked Joffrey, the gentle tone of his voice harshly clashing with the strength he used to grip her hair.

Sansa gasped for air. "I'm sorry, your grace, I don't mean… You _are _dignified, you're not your father at all!"

_"Don't _speak ill of my father," Joffrey said. "He was foolish with women. He loved them far too much. I'm a fighter like him, but I did not wish to bed those whores," he said while he twisted a curl of her hair around his finger in thought. The more he heard her breath catch in her throat, her scared tone of voice, the more deeply he wanted her. He wasn't sure just how to start so he bided more time with his words. He leaned into her ear, feeling his knees trembling slightly in anticipation. "I also didn't want to waste my first time on them when I knew I could have you." He threw Sansa a somewhat bashful grin. "Do you remember what we did earlier that day?"

She drew a breath and shook her head. "I don't think so, I'm sorry—"

"It's alright. I can help you recall. That was the day I had Ser Boros strip you in front of the court," Joffrey smiled. "Then I had Ser Merys beat you." His voice was excited and boyish as his hand traveled down to the small of her back. It felt grown-up to tell a pretty girl such a private thought. "I had wanted to see more and I was quite disappointed when Tyrion spoiled my plans. I couldn't stop thinking of you, Sansa." _Tied-up, crying, beaten bloody, my hands inside your—_

"Thank you, your grace," Sansa said, but her voice pitch was stiff and formal and her eyes were dull.

"I said, _I couldn't stop thinking of you,_" Joffrey hissed loudly into her ear, ignoring the twitch of hardness that was beginning to stir inside his breeches.

Sansa shuddered and stepped back another pace so she was pressed up against the wall, her small hands fluttering nervously at her sides like dying doves. "I was thinking about you, too," she whispered. "I was afraid you were too angry with me. I don't want you to be angry. I want you to be happy, your grace. It's what I care about most—keeping you in a good mood."

"What you care about most?" Joffrey snapped, stepping to the wall and placing his hand at her waist, squeezing her there. She let out a shrill noise of protest. "You care more about keeping me in a good mood than you care about your family? You care more for me than your fool brother? More than your dead traitorous father?" He stared at her attentively, his other hand moving to her cheek again.

"Yes," Sansa nodded, a small sob spilling from her lips. "Yes, I love you and I just want you happy—that's all I care about now."

"Good," Joffrey nodded, "very good. I was a bit worried that you were still holding your father's death against me." He moved his mouth to her ear and breathed in slowly, gripping Sansa harder by her waist. To his great interest, she gave a small moan. "I like this," he whispered, fingering the hem of her nightgown. "You look lovely."

"Thank you, my king," she said in a low voice, "but I still don't know why you're here—"

"Without your blood, you can be my amusement," Joffrey replied. "I want to see whether you're good enough for marriage, Sansa. I want to know how you feel. Don't you want to?"

"I'm not ready," she muttered, her hands gripping the wall as if she were saving it from toppling down. "It would be wrong, don't you think?"

"I thought you wanted to please me," he whined. "Were you lying?"

"No," Sansa said at once, shaking her head. "I don't lie, not to my king, not to anyone."

"I don't care whether or not you lie to someone else! As long as you're honest with me, Sansa—that's all I care about—"

"That's obvious," his beautiful girl nodded with a smile on her face. "Of course I'm completely honest with you!"

"Good," Joffrey said, and sighed into her neck. Sansa gave another trembling moan and leaned her head back against the wall, her eyes shutting tightly. Joffrey gripped her hair again. "Eyes open," he commanded. She obeyed in an instant. "I imagine you're simply nervous. Don't be. I'll help you. After all," he said grandly," I know what I'm doing."

Sansa's eyes flashed. "Have you had a lot of experience, your grace?" she asked in a tone Joffrey could not interpret.

"What does that mean?" he snapped. "You think I haven't?"

"I didn't say that," Sansa replied. "I know my brother Rob is admired by young ladies and I was just thinking that you are probably like him in that way." She wore a vacant expression.

He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment before deciding there was nothing to fight about. It seemed she was telling the truth. After all, he _did _know a few things. More than Sansa, that much he was certain of. He knew if he was going to do this, he'd have to not over think it. He needed to take action. He bit his lip and sucked in air before slipping his right hand into the tight gap between her legs. "I'm not your traitor brother. I'm better than him," he said breathlessly.

"Please don't," Sansa whispered as he put his opposite hand on her thigh.

"Would you rather someone else be doing this?" Joffrey snapped, trailing his hand up to her private place. She shook her head firmly from side to side. "Good. I thought not," he said, and palmed her genitals, excited by the feel of her springy pubic hair against his hand. "Nothing on underneath," he said quietly into her ear and she shuddered. "I like it. I like it a lot, Sansa." In one forceful move, he shoved his fingers against her slightly damp skin, trying to find her opening. She let out a sound of surprise as he grappled for the entrance and finally he found it, a small, very tight hole. He pushed one finger inside her and Sansa yelped. The hole suctioned his finger. It was slightly wet against him. He grunted appreciatively, hoping he hadn't given himself away as a novice.

Joffrey began to move his finger in and out of her, slowly at first, and then he quickened the pace. His tongue between his teeth, he added another finger. Then another. She shrieked and covered her mouth. "Does it hurt?" he asked intensely, studying her somber face.

Sansa nodded. "It hurts very much," she said quietly, holding his eye contact. Tears were creeping into the corners of her eyes, twinkling crystals. "I'm sorry, but I can't lie to you—"

"I understand," he said, pausing in the in-out motion. With his free hand, he took her hand from her mouth and kissed it lightly. "Don't cover your screams," he said sweetly with an earnest grin. "I want to hear them." Again, he pushed his fingers in and out of her, exhilarated by the feeling of her muscle wrapping around them, closing them in. He kissed the corner of her mouth, pushing his entire hand inside her now. He looked to Sansa but she'd set her jaw and was staring blankly ahead. "Am I not doing it hard enough, my lady? What about _this_?" Joffrey snarled, and thrust his entire hand in with a hasty, vigorous shove.

Sansa cried loudly, her thighs pressing to his wrist. "It hurts," she gasped. "Your grace, please—"

"Please _what?" _Joffrey smiled, not ceasing in pushing his hand in and out of her. He groaned at the feeling of wetness coating his skin. He was fully hard now and pressed against Sansa's hip. He wondered if she could feel him, if she even knew what it was.

"Please, I can't—it's too much," she said in a sob, shaking her head. Joffrey pushed into her again, harder. Sansa wailed.

"Yes," Joffrey said greedily, "that's good, that's very good." He could feel his hardness pulsing, pressing against his trousers. Every whine was beautiful; every shriek helped him get closer to the edge. "Touch me," he said sharply.

Sansa gave him a confused look. "Touch you where?"

"The front of my breeches," Joffrey snapped into her ear, pulling his hand out of her in a ruthless tug. She breathed out loudly and slowly extended her arm. Unable to wait, he snatched her hand in his and pressed it to his hard groin. "I love the way you scream," he moaned, his eyes half-closed as Sansa tentatively placed her hand over him, still trembling and breathing hard. "Move your hand up and down," he said. "Now." She complied, slowly stroking him, her brows furrowed. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. _This is how it should be, _he thought, breathing hard, _I'm in charge of her. Nothing like that stupid whore who tried to best me by touching me before I told her to. _ Not wanting to show her how excited he was, he pulled her hand away after only a few seconds, gripping her fingers. Sansa let out a cry. "Pull up your gown," he said.

Sansa fixed him with a fearful look. "My king?"

"Do as I say," he replied curtly. If he thought too hard about this, he wouldn't go through with it. He'd be too preoccupied with the power play, the fact that Sansa had made him erect—but she was naïve enough, he reasoned. She didn't even understand what she'd done. She wouldn't know she had power over him. And after this, he'd have _all _the power.

Tentatively, Sansa drew up her nightgown over her privates, not meeting his eyes. Her shoulders shook and she was crying softly. Joffrey's breath caught in his throat as he inadvertently palmed his erection through his clothes. This was the spot his hands had just been inside, this secret and wet place between Sansa Stark's legs. He liked the auburn pubes and the way her legs twitched with fear as he gazed upon her. In this moment, he wanted to be inside her very much. _Too much. _

"Turn around," he said. "Face the wall."

"Y-yes, your grace," Sansa sputtered and, crying louder, she did as she was told. The fullness of her backside with her red curls cascading down her shoulders was almost worse than seeing her from the front.

Joffrey cleared his throat and walked a pace backward. "I'm going to return!" he said defiantly, "but you won't know when! But when I do, mark my words, I'm going to take your maidenhead. I'm going to be so rough with you, you won't even be able to walk!" With that, Joffrey turned on his heel and stormed out of Sansa's chambers, slamming the door behind him.

_A far better plan, _he convinced himself as he tried to both shield his erection and catch his breath. _This way, she knows what's going to happen to her and you can make her wait days. Weeks, if you feel like it! When you finally burst through the door of her chambers, she'll scream even louder with fear because she's been thinking about you all day and night, praying you'll be merciful with her. _ _And when you do go back there, you'll be ready to take what is yours from Lady Sansa. _


	4. Monster in Boy's Clothing

Chapter Four: _Monster in Boy's Clothing_

* * *

__"Sick, sick, holding onto his picture/ Dressing up every day.  
_I want to smash the faces of those beautiful boys/ those Christian boys  
So you can make me cum? It doesn't make you Jesus."  
_  
\- TORI AMOS, "Precious Things"

* * *

..

SANSA

..

* * *

"Repeat what you just said, and be slow about it. Take your time," said Shae in a warm and gentle tone, a tone like fresh bread dipped in warm honey. Shae's kindness only made Sansa feel more flustered, and she continued to cry softly into her handmaiden's shoulder. It was the morning after King Joffrey's impromptu visit in her chambers and Sansa had been up half the night, both worrying he'd come back and confused about the implications of his actions. When she had eventually fallen asleep, she'd had bizarre, darkly painted nightmares, and had woken up with a shriek to find Shae already at work in her room. At once, Shae had moved in to comfort her, and Sansa was currently trying to piece her thoughts into actual words. After all, she'd never been touched like that in her life. When she touched herself she did so lightly and tentatively, nervous she'd be caught in the act. Joffrey's hand had been long-fingered and strong, and had felt foreign inside of her. What Sansa hated most was that his mouth on hers had almost felt good, and his breath in her ear had made her moan aloud. She despised King Joffrey even more for that fact. She wanted to slap herself.

Joffrey was hideous. At first, he'd seemed charming, handsome and kind. He'd shared wine with her. He'd complimented her looks and he'd been a perfect conversationalist. He was the most attractive boy Sansa had ever seen. But she'd been tricked by his pretty outer shell. He was solely responsible for the death of her beloved father, and his cruelty had started a war which could very well end up killing her elder brother Rob. Not to mention, Arya loathed Sansa and for good reason—and now, Arya was missing. Sansa's entire life had spiraled out of control and her family was torn apart, all because she fell in love with a boy, a terrible, toxic bad-boy. A monster in boy's clothing. Sansa drew a shuddering breath, her hands woven through Shae's hair. "He came in here, Shae—I had no way of stopping him. He told me he would have me because I was his—and he put—" she stopped and sniffed, wiping her eyes. "He put his hand down there and I was so afraid! I thought he was going to—"

"Sansa, slower," Shae urged, and took the girl's hands in hers, holding her in a gentle grip and locking eyes with her. "Who? Who came in here?"

Sansa pursed her lips and looked at the crimson rug on the floor. "King Joffrey," she whispered, afraid someone was watching. It seemed Sansa was never alone, not really.

"Did he hurt you, my girl?" Shae asked in a soft tone, fixing Sansa with a sympathetic look that almost made it all worse.

"It hurt at first," Sansa nodded, "but it was the surprise that was worst—"

"Did he put himself inside you? His…" Shae paused. "I'm sorry, but, his cock?"

Sansa clenched Shae's shoulders and buried her hot face in her hair. "No, no, he didn't. Thank the gods, he didn't. But he says he's coming back. He's going to spoil me, Shae! If I'm not a maiden, he'll tell his mother and I'll be unfit for marriage, unfit for anything here! He'll have me killed, most likely, after he's done!"

"He's not allowed to do that," Shae said strongly, shaking her head as though arguing with an unseen entity. "You must tell the queen! Go now and tell her what he's done to you—"

"And what?" Sansa laughed sardonically. "You think the queen will believe my word over Joffrey's? She _hates _me, Shae, you know she hates me!"

"Then I will tell the queen—"

"You weren't even here—"

-"I'll say I saw him leaving your chambers—"

"And you think she'd believe a handmaiden more than she'd believe me? Likely she'd have you killed for that. Joffrey will say you're a liar," Sansa replied. "You can't say anything. I won't have you punished for this!"

"There's someone I can tell," Shae said determinedly in a quiet voice. "He will help you. He is on your side, he hates the king—"

"Who?" demanded Sansa, her face blushing hot red at the thought of anyone, especially a man, being told this humiliating story.

"I cannot say. But he would help. I can talk to him later today, if you—"

"No." Sansa set her jaw and took her hands from Shae's, crossing her arms. "I can't let anyone know. We cannot risk it. No one will take my word over his."

"Let me see," Shae said thoughtfully, mirroring Sansa and crossing her own arms. Her brows were furrowed in thought. "How can I help you? Do you want a bath?"

"Not yet," Sansa said firmly. "I am not ready to move." The two young women sat in silence for several minutes until Sansa gingerly touched Shae's arm. "I don't mean to pry, but you are not a maiden. Are you?"

"Is it so obvious?" Shae smiled, and gave a quiet chortle.

"I'm not being rude," Sansa put in quickly, hoping she had not offended, "but you know things. About men? I can tell. You're confident."

"I've had many experiences with men. I'm far from a maiden, my lady. I've never been forced to lie with a spoiled boy king, but I've been in situations I haven't been proud of. I've been used by men. You learn to do a lot of things if you want to stay alive." Shae's tone was light but her face was solemn. "If you wish for me not to speak about this, I will keep it to myself. But I can give you my own suggestions. It may help you, though I am afraid for you. The king has dramatic moods and I can't know for certain what he'll do. Or if he'll do anything at all."

"Oh, please," Sansa whispered, grabbing Shae's arm and holding her fast. "Please, tell me anything! Everything!"

Shae drew a breath. "We'll need to be very careful. I fear for your safety, my lady. But I still want you to trust me and come to me if you need anything at all. You are not alone with me here. I will act as if I know nothing. I do not see the king often but when I do, I blend into my surroundings to save my own life. I shall continue to act in the same way." Sansa nodded, understanding her handmaiden's grave tone of voice. "He may try to hurt you," Shae went on, "and he may very well succeed. But you can master the art of escape."

Sansa leaned in, hanging on every word. "What do you mean?"

"If he does use you for sex, you can try to get out of your head. Go somewhere you like, anywhere you like, and stay there until he's had his fill. It helps to forget. It doesn't take away the pain, but it can keep you safe up here," Shae said, and patted the top of Sansa's head.

"It will hurt much worse than his hand, won't it?" Sansa asked, and then as an afterthought, "if he wants to… take my maidenhead?"

"It should not hurt after your maidenhead breaks, but if the king is rough, it may continue to hurt. I can only hope his actions are less fearsome than his words," Shae said, and by the way she voiced this, Sansa had a feeling Shae believed Joffrey _would _be rough. After all, why wouldn't he? He was an angry boy who made rash, hateful decisions. Gone were Sansa's fantasies of making slow, sweet love with her blond-haired prince charming. As soon as Joffrey had displayed his true self, she'd replaced those hopeful, infantile dreams with the stuff of night terrors. Joffrey was more likely to sprout claws than treat Sansa with respect. Although she wasn't exactly certain how love-making was supposed to go, she had figured Joffrey wouldn't be terribly concerned with romance, not even with the future mother of his children. Especially now.

And his story about the two prostitutes had made Sansa's skin crawl. Who was to say he wouldn't do something similar to her? He wasn't supposed to hurt her but he'd obviously decided he was above the queen's rules. _Leave her face, _he'd said last week before his men had beaten her, _I like her pretty. _Sansa had clung to that like a drowning man clings to a rock, hoping that perhaps Joffrey had some shred of care for her, even if it was completely for vanity's sake. (_He still thinks I'm pretty, _she'd thought, and then cursed herself for being an idiot, wondered if she was going mad.) But now, it had a hopeful connotation. He might rape her, but he likely wouldn't beat her until she was unconscious or bloody. Or at least, he'd refrain from beating in her face. At these morbid thoughts, Sansa began to cry again. What a bleak life, rejoicing in the fact that (perhaps) her betrothed wouldn't smash her head in.

Shae took her by the shoulders and stood her up, encompassing her in a hug. Sansa cried harder at her handmaiden's kindness. At least she had someone who cared, but it reminded her of her mother, and thus made it all more sad. "What if he ruins me?" Sansa cried.

"If he takes your maidenhead, he takes it. But he'll never ruin you. You are strong, my lady. You can leave your mind and go somewhere good, somewhere he cannot reach you. You can make like someone else is touching you, someone pleasant and kind and loving. You can invent and pretend. These are all things I can help you with, but we should not dwell now. Come," Shae said with an abrupt nod. "I shall give you a bath and we'll wash him off you. I will tell you a funny story."

Sansa smiled through her tears and wiped her face but dread flowed through her still because she knew, despite Shae's kind words, that King Joffrey would not be washed off so easily.

* * *

..

JOFFREY

..

* * *

It had been a distressing morning for Joffrey, whose thoughts had not strayed from the encounter with Lady Sansa for more than ten seconds. He'd gotten off quickly last night after reaching his chambers and had collapsed, exhausted, into his blankets. He'd avoided conversation with his mother and siblings at breakfast, and he'd spent time pacing the hallways. Uncle Tyrion found him later that afternoon perched languidly in the throne, all splayed limbs, planning his next move with the Stark girl.

"Ah," Uncle Imp had said in mock fondness. "Our highly revered ruler hard at work, I see! I am here to see that you are devoting yourself to kingly duties and I can tell you are outdoing yourself. You certainly look official. I assume you are deliberating over which defensive methods to use during the impending attack on your kingdom?"

Joffrey scowled deeply and swung his legs over the arm rest. "You're interrupting me. Get away and let me think!"

"Oh, but I'm quite interested in your thoughts. What is it that buzzes through your turbulent mind, I wonder? Scholars would piss themselves with excitement if they were fortunate enough to be tasked with picking at your impenetrable psyche!"

"Are you being sarcastic?" demanded Joffrey, squinting at his uncle.

"Sarcastic? Me? Never," clucked Uncle Imp, striding forward on his short legs. "What is it that vexes you so? I hardly ever see you without a maniacal grin on your face. Despite myself, I must say I _am _a bit intrigued. Or, more to the point, nervous. Could it be you actually care about something? How frightening." He approached the throne. "What is it, my dear nephew?"

Though Joffrey wanted to ask what "maniacal" meant, he did not want to give his daft uncle the pleasure of besting him. "Personal issues," he said delicately, flopping back onto the throne and sighing deeply. "You wouldn't understand."

"No, I trust I would not," said Uncle Imp pleasantly. "However, nephew, do yourself a favor and sit up straight. If you are going to pretend to be preoccupied, at least be a bit more convincing."

Glowering, Joffrey flexed his fists and began to shout: "You cannot tell me what to do! I am your king! I tell _you _what to do!"

His uncle merely shrugged as he walked away. "I hope your personal issues get solved faster than the matters I am about to address with your mother. And if you do come up with a battle plan do let us know, _your grace._" The last two words were laced with bitterness and Joffrey felt his body surge with rage. He wished he could order for his uncle to be tortured slowly, but mother had forbade it. Furthermore, she had made it clear that Grandfather Tywin would not enjoy it if his appointed Hand was maimed or tortured. Everyone was constantly spoiling fun around King's Landing.

Joffrey frowned, but did sit up a bit straighter as his thoughts floated back to Sansa in her transparent nightgown. Though he thought it would have been a very quick ordeal, it had been surprisingly difficult to go through with fucking his lady. He told himself that this was only because he was highborn and thus unable to simply take what he wanted and leave. Joffrey wanted to make Sansa wait ages for his return but his insides were a fluttery mess, and he knew he had to return to her chambers tonight. He wanted to be inside her and he could not wait another day.

. . .

* * *

Once the clock had struck midnight, Joffrey stole into the hallway and tried not to over think his actions. He swept past several guards who quickly stood to attention. When he slipped into Sansa's corridor, he detected a figure near the end of the hallway. Once he'd neared her doorway, he recognized it was his Hound who stood so still there, casting a colossal shadow on the stone floor. Joffrey snorted. "What are you doing so far from my chambers, Dog?"

"Patrolling the castle, as usual," the man said in a low voice, his contorted face even more grisly in the dark. "And you, my king? The hour is late."

"I don't need to answer questions like that. You are dismissed. Go chase your tail somewhere else," leered Joffrey, waving his hand. The ugly Dog dipped his head obediently and strode down the hall, fixing Joffrey with a somber glance as he passed him. As soon as the Hound was out of sight, Joffrey drew a deep breath and flung open Sansa's door.

This time, she was sitting on her bed clutching a hairbrush in hand and staring toward the doorway as if she had been expecting him. "Good evening, your grace," she said quietly, and stood up to give a deep curtsy.

"Did you ask for my Hound to stand guard at your door?" Joffrey snarled at once, without meaning to let the words fall from his mouth.

Sansa shook her head quickly. "No! Why, your grace?"

"He was just outside! Did you tell someone about last night?" Joffrey couldn't stop these words from coming. They were sharp and sounded jealous, suspicious.

"I told him nothing," Sansa said, her voice wavering. "I wouldn't say a thing. I promised you. I'm loyal to you!"

A small smirk coiled on Joffrey's lips as he calmed down, gulping deep breaths. He tried to ignore his sweaty palms. "Yes, I expect you are. Tell me, have you been thinking of me?"

"I've thought of little else, your grace," Sansa said in a soft voice, averting her eyes. He beamed at her words. Tonight, she was wearing a long, blue nightdress that brought out her eyes and made her Tully hair shine even brighter.

"You look nice," he remarked, stepping forward. She nodded politely, and he noticed her legs shaking. "Sit down, my lady. Am I frightening you?"

Sansa looked up at him, almost as though she was reading him and she dropped the brush to her side as she sat. "I—don't—know," she said. "Sometimes."

"I'm asking if I'm frightening you now," Joffrey said crisply and sat next to her on the bed, his heart beginning to race.

"It depends. Do you want to hurt me?" Sansa questioned, her head raised as she watched something other than his face.

Joffrey took her by the chin and turned her to face him as she let out a panicked yelp. "I will hurt you if you don't please me," he told her in a kind voice.

"But I wish to please you, your grace. I want you to be happy with me," Sansa replied quickly.

"Kiss me, then," Joffrey said, and his eyes flashed. Sansa hesitated, so Joffrey grabbed her throat and drove his tongue into her lips, prying them apart. She cried out into his mouth and then quieted down; she was a fly being wound up into a succulent silk package for a starving spider. She tasted sweet and when he touched her tongue with his he felt a shock through his core. Hungrily, Joffrey kissed her deeper and pawed at her breasts, his breath catching in his throat as he felt himself going hard. "Sansa," he muttered, pausing in tonguing her. "Undo my trousers."

She stared at him wildly, her face fearful in the flickering candlelight. He was impatient. He didn't have time for deliberation this time. He wanted to be inside her; he wanted to rip her to shreds, eat her up and spit her back out again. "Please don't hurt me," she gasped as Joffrey gripped the strap of her nightgown and shoved her backward onto the dark maroon bedding.

"Command me again and I'll stick it in you so hard you'll be crying for me to stop," he said with a hint of jubilation to his high voice as he un-buttoned his trousers and pulled off his leggings so that all that remained was his black tunic. Sansa watched him wide-eyed with one hand to the bottom of her nightclothes and his face felt a bit warm as he saw her eyes surveying his cock which was standing straight up. He wanted to ask her questions like, _have you seen one before, _or _do I look how you imagined, _or even _have you _ever _imagined me like this_ but such questions wouldn't sound good coming from him. He was a king, not a child. So instead, he held his firm hardness in his hand and fumbled onto the bed. He put his legs on either side of Sansa and pulled her nightgown over her slender stomach. She let out a soft wail that he muffled with a kiss, his lips solid on hers as he tried to direct himself inside her. His fingers grappled for that secret spot, that wet opening, and he moaned aloud when he found it. He pushed all of his hand inside, smiling broadly. _I'm doing it, _he thought. _I'm doing it!_ Sansa screamed into his mouth and he moaned again hoarsely in reply, pleased. He replaced his fingers with his hardness and shoved it through her core. Her cunt was warm, tight, and surrounded him completely.

"Oh Sansa," he found himself saying, "That feels very good." When he met her eyes, she was staring up at with her mouth slightly ajar. Tears shimmered down her pretty face and dripped off her chin as Joffrey slowly thrust into her. He gritted his teeth and gripped the bed covering, bucking into her a bit harder. "Doesn't it?" he asked harshly.

"It hurts," she whispered, her eyes finding his again. "It really hurts."

Joffrey ignored her and tenderly kissed the nape of her neck as he moved in and out of her as slowly as he could. He could already feel pressure building, but he didn't want it to end—not yet. He ran one hand through her hair and quickened the pace of his thrusts as small, deep noises of approval left his mouth. "You aren't happy. How can I make my lady happy," he muttered (it was not really a question, after all), and kissed her earlobe, breathing heavily as he began a hurried movement. _In-out-in-out-in-out-in-out. _

Sansa squirmed and moaned as Joffrey licked her neck, his breath moving in a line from beneath her ear to her chin, down to her collarbone. "That—feels—nice," she got out, and Joffrey decided he'd believe her. He wasn't sure if Sansa was just trying to please him but he imagined, as with everything else, he was very talented at this. He bared his teeth on her neck, nibbling her and enjoying her responsive squeals and squirms. He wasn't going to be long now, and he sunk his teeth into her shoulder blade, rejoicing in the loud howl of pain that Sansa released into his ear. He laughed lightly and quickened his pace, driving himself into her, when she let out another shuddering cry. That was too much for Joffrey; he seized up, his teeth closing around the soft skin of her neck. Sansa gasped, her eyes full of question as he whimpered lightly, his eyes rolling to the ceiling. He felt his orgasm pulse throughout him as he came in her, breath coming out in pants. When the tremors of pleasure subsided, he freed her skin from his mouth, his blond hair tousled and slightly damp from perspiration. He kissed her neck again as he softened inside her. As soon as he pulled out and glanced down, he smiled proudly at his emission running like dew down her inner thigh. A thin layer of blood covered his cock and he noticed that her nightgown was stained bright red in several places. She was marked with him. The smell of the maiden's blood made his mouth water as much as it sickened him. Without really thinking, he shoved his hand up between her legs again. Sansa screamed, and Joffrey removed his hand to see it coated in slick redness.

Sansa seemed speechless as she watched his face, legs shaky and jaw slack. She did not speak as he pulled up his underclothes, leggings and trousers. She watched quietly as he fixed his tunic. She stayed silent when he ran a hand through his hair, throwing a triumphant glance at the reflection of himself in her bedside mirror.

"Burn the nightgown," he said loudly, breaking the quiet. Sansa jumped as if she'd forgotten speaking was an option. There was a purple bruise beginning on her throat, he noticed with satisfaction. "And take care to cover your neck until that bruise has gone. I'm afraid I got a bit carried away. It's no matter, though. You're mine. You were mine before but now you're _really _mine," he said with a laugh and leaned in to kiss her forehead. "And don't tell anyone, or I will accuse you of lying and you'll be killed." He leaned in and flecked her cheek teasingly. "Oh, and please do me the kindness of sitting by my side at dinner this entire week. I like you in red, and I like your hair this way."

"My king?" Sansa finally spoke, her voice small and wavering.

"What is it?" Joffrey asked, pausing at the doorway.

"Did I satisfy you? That is, will you be kind to me?" she asked in a wavering voice, lowering her eyes.

Joffrey smiled. "I'm very satisfied-"

Sansa smiled back at him, mouth convulsing, the remnants of tears still glistening on her face.

"-For now," he finished. When he shut the door, he swore he heard her sobbing again but that was not a surprise. Sansa was a girl, and girls were overly emotional. Joffrey decided she was likely lamenting her bloody nightgown. _The simple worries of women._

Once in his chambers, he disrobed and fell into bed. He'd thought he would be beyond spent, but he couldn't stop looking at his stained hands and privates. He replayed Sansa's sobs in his head and was soon erect again. He brought himself to orgasm only minutes later, sticky with come and the blood of Sansa's maidenhead. Lethargically, he cleaned up as best as he could and then fell into a deep slumber. When he woke up the next morning, he had to admit there was only one thing on his mind: Sansa Stark, his very own toy.

How could he know what he'd started, what lay ahead?


	5. What He Loves

Chapter Five: What He Loves

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..

JOFFREY

..

* * *

It was nearly fifteen minutes after he had been seated at the dining table with his mother and siblings, but there was no sign of Sansa Stark. His nerves were all distorted and had been since morning. He was no longer a virgin. He'd thought it would make him feel drastically different but here he was, as usual, sitting to dinner with his stupid family. Still, every time he looked at Cersei he felt hotness pulse throughout his body; he had a secret, a big secret. And Mother would never have the satisfaction of knowing.  
Joffrey was looking forward to seeing if Sansa complied with his orders. He wanted to see her in a dress as red as her maiden's blood, that pretty crimson that had stained his dick and hands that smelled of private, dark places. He was aching to see her face. Would she be terrified of him? Worshipful of him? He couldn't decide which was better. Both would be nice. Tommen went to grab his goblet and Joffrey slapped his hand down. "Not yet," he instructed viciously, "and no one else had better start, either!"

"Joffrey," said Mother while raising a flaxen brow, "be polite at the table, please."

"I _am_," he whined. "It would be rude to start without my lady, would it not?"

"My dear, Sansa takes her meals in her room on the nights you decide to join us as you requested when you took the crown. You were very clear about that—"

"Yes, I know that, _Mother,_" Joffrey scowled._ "_You think I cannot remember my own orders? Tonight I decided I want her here so where is she?" He smacked the table. Myrcella and Tommen were very careful not to meet his eyes.

"You requested her presence for dinner? How interesting," Mother put in, snapping her fingers. A slight, dark-haired handmaiden stepped in to pour Cersei and Joffrey goblets of wine.

"Yes, Mother," he nodded, trying to disguise a sneer as an innocent grin. "I felt it would be an appropriate way to honor my betrothed. She ought to dine here with my family. Doesn't that sound good?"

His mother fixed him with a smile. "It does indeed, Joffrey. How nice that Lady Sansa will be joining us from now on—"

"Well, for this week. And further if I decide I like it this way."

"What caused this change of heart?"

Joffrey shrugged, masking a smirk. "Does a king need to explain himself?"

"I love Sansa!" Myrcella said eagerly. "I want her to dine with us every night! Joff, please! Please!"

"That's for me to decide!" Joffrey barked. "Now stop babbling. I cannot stand to hear your voice."

Myrcella's eyes widened and she put her hands in her lap. "Well, I still love her," she said quietly.

"I'm hungry, Joffy! Please, can we eat?" Tommen begged, attempting to make an angelic face that Joffrey wanted to smack right off him. He was about to say so when a voice broke the tension.

"My deepest apologies for being late, your grace," came a voice from the entrance. Joffrey's heart leapt with excitement as he turned to face her. Lady Sansa stepped in, gorgeous in a crimson gown. The Hound came in behind her, frowning dully at everyone as always. Sansa's hair was parted and set in loose curls that tumbled over her shoulders. She'd carefully strung a red ribbon a few times around her neck. He deeply desired to see the bruise he knew lay buried beneath. Sansa curtsied.

He stood up with a thin smile, hiding his pleasure at seeing Sansa by narrowing his eyes. "What held you up so long? Was it my Dog? Did he get lost on the way?" Joffrey chortled. The Hound crossed his arms, a stern expression on his mutilated face.

"No, your grace. My hair," Sansa said with a small laugh. "I was so afraid I wouldn't look good enough for you that I forced my handmaiden to rearrange my curls."

"Ah, how typical. Hair and the like seems to take precedence over being timely when it comes to girls ," Joffrey commented in a bored tone, rolling his eyes. "Still, she's done a fine job on you, my lady."

"You look beautiful!" admired Myrcella in a squeak.

"She does indeed," commented Cersei with a nod.

Sansa bowed her head. "Thank you, princess. Thank you, your grace.

"Please sit down," Joffrey nodded, gesturing to the open chair beside him. "Your looks are to my liking. I forgive you for your lateness."

"That pleases me more than anything," Sansa said formally before sitting between Cersei and Joffrey. Joffrey gave her a closer inspection and his heart raced. _Just last night, I was inside you, _he thought. _And I can go back inside of you anytime I please because you are mine, mine, mine! _

"Can we eat please, Joffy?" asked Tommen with bright, eager eyes.

"Yes, yes," Joffrey said, trying to mask his exasperation at his siblings' outrageously immature behavior as the handmaiden poured Sansa a goblet of wine. "Did you do anything of interest today, Sansa?"

Sansa shook her head, cutting a piece of mutton pie and keeping her eyes on her plate. "Nothing really, your grace." Joffrey admired the curve of her breasts.

"Are you bored, little dove?" Mother asked, smiling at Sansa. "Shall we find you activities to better make use of your time?"

Looking horrified, Sansa shook her head. "No, your grace—I'm sorry! I wasn't bored in the least. I read poetry during my lesson and I sketched the flowers in the garden."

"That's very nice, Sansa," nodded Mother approvingly, but Joffrey raised up his hand.

"I don't think it's too terrible an idea to help my lady occupy her time." He turned to Sansa and gave her a charming smile. "You could be doing so much more around King's Landing. We could go riding. I could show you the secret hiding spots in the gardens and take you on walks to give you the best views!"

"I want to go!" cheered Tommen.

"Sh," Myrcella said with a flip of her blonde hair. "They're in love and won't want you there. Right, Sansa? You love my brother, don't you? Do you think he's the most handsome boy you've ever seen?"

"Oh, Myrcella," laughed Cersei and patted the girl's hand. Sansa paled a bit and looked downward.

"Answer my sister's question," Joffrey urged, trying to hide the impatience that tinged his voice. He took his dinner knife off the table and discreetly held it in his lap.

Sansa turned to face him and gave him a smile. "Yes, your grace. Your features are undeniably handsome."

Joffrey smirked, preening like a peacock, and casually trailed the knife up Sansa's knee, being careful not to apply too much pressure. Just enough. "The most handsome?" he asked. With a clatter, Sansa dropped her fork and knife to her plate. Joffrey grinned and drew back the knife into his lap. "Answer me," he said firmly.

"Yes, your grace," she whispered, her voice trembling. "The most handsome."

"And you'd like to go riding with me?" Joffrey pressed, his fingers settling on Sansa's leg and grabbing her there with his nails, hard. He felt the very start of an erection budding between his legs.

"Very much," she whimpered, staring straight ahead.

"What's wrong, Sansa?" asked Myrcella. "You look afraid—"

"More wine," Cersei commanded, and the handmaiden headed to table. Joffrey snapped his hand off Sansa's lap as quickly as he could.

Sansa gave a small laugh. "Nothing is wrong," she said. "I'm looking forward to riding with my king."

"You look like you're upset!" Myrcella continued.

"Shut up," Joffrey snarled. "Do you ever stop talking?"

"I'm not upset," Sansa reassured Myrcella in a soft tone. She smiled. The rest of the meal was pleasantly quiet. Joffrey was happy that his siblings ceased in their noise-making in favor of eating their supper. He was looking forward to horseback riding with Sansa. It would allow them to have time to themselves and although he figured it might be too risky to fuck Sansa out in the open, he could certainly do with some kissing and touching while no one was watching. At the end of supper, Sansa rose to be escorted back to her chambers by the Hound. Joffrey smiled and patted her arm and was pleased when Sansa jumped.

"It's so nice to see you two getting along." Mother leaned over to look at Joffrey. "I really must know the reason for this sudden change of heart."

Joffrey gave his mother a pleasant look and shrugged his shoulders. "You were right, Mother. Sansa and I are to be wed and I've been behaving badly. I decided it would not hurt me to take your advice." The Hound muttered something under his breath that Joffrey could not quite catch. At once, Joffrey wheeled around to face his dog, glowering deeply.

* * *

..

SANSA

..

* * *

_"You'd much rather hurt the little bird instead." _

Sansa felt her body go rigid at the Hound's muttered words. She was rooted to the spot, though she wanted to show him she'd heard him, that she'd understood. She wondered if he knew what had had happened between herself and King Joffrey last night. Her maidenhead was gone and there was still a faint pressure between her legs where Joffrey had visited. Sansa and Shae had spent the early morning scrubbing blood from the coverlet, and burning Sansa's nightgown as the king had suggested. Had the Hound seen? Had one of the queen's spies already spread the word (_spread the word wide-open like Sansa's private lips underneath her nightgown, the king's fingers and then his cock prying, prying, prying_) ? But as soon as she stopped in her tracks, she knew she should have simply proceeded on.

"Did you say something, Dog?" Joffrey called out, his saccharine sweet tone turning rancid like old milk. "Did you insult my lady?"

She turned around very slowly, trying to keep her face as inexpressive as possible. Joffrey loved reactions, making his own and seeing them; he lived for dramatics and entertainment. And just as Sansa had endured a supper during which her betrothed King had slid his knife along the material of her gown without making a scene, she made her face as innocent as possible and shrugged. "I didn't hear anything," Sansa replied simply.

But Joffrey's eyes darkened. "I wasn't speaking to you. Dog, did you or did you not just say something?"

"I was talking to myself, your grace. Nothing against your lady," replied the Hound and bowed his head. Sansa kept her eyes off him for fear she'd emote in a way that would make Joffrey sense there had been a quiet exchange between the two of them.

"Either speak loudly enough for me to hear or don't speak at all," Joffrey replied in a snap. "I've had tongues cut out for less." His face sweet again, Joffrey bid her a goodnight, and Sansa's stomach dropped when he trailed her back with his fingers. Sansa plastered on a look of serene happiness and waved to Myrcella, Tommen and the queen. She felt horrible she'd had to lie to Princess Myrcella but she supposed it wasn't too bad of a stretch. Joffrey _used _to be the most handsome boy Sansa had ever seen, even when he showed his wicked qualities, but now all she saw when she looked at him was the look he'd had on his face of gleeful concentration last night as he'd deflowered her. That look of victory upon his face as he'd inspected the damage. His fascination in shoving his hand back into all of her maiden's blood; oh, how Sansa's faced had burned because even after all of this, she was a lady and it had been utterly humiliating. Sansa had tried with all her might to take Shae's advice, to leave her head and go somewhere he couldn't touch her, but Joffrey had demanded responses from her. Each time Sansa had tried to think about her old life in Winterfell surrounded by her siblings and parents, Joffrey's cold, thin voice had cut through her like icicles and she'd had no choice but to be completely absorbed in the experience. Losing her maidenhead had been different than Sansa had expected. It hurt when Joffrey had forced his private parts inside of her but as Shae had said, the pain mostly went away by the end. It was the other parts of Joffrey that made Sansa more nervous: his teeth that had left a gaudy bruise on her neck, his fingers that shoved and pinched and slapped, and his eyes. His eyes were worst. They were glowing green orbs that were ever watchful and even when he smiled, the orbs widened and flashed, a reminder that King Joffrey could snap at any moment.

"How late did _your king_ stay last night?" the Hound muttered gruffly.

Sansa's head snapped to attention, her gaze searching for the Lannisters. But lost in her thoughts, she had drifted past the dining room, trailing the Hound. They had probably been walking for at least five minutes without Sansa knowing. Still, the question made her face burn, no matter how alone they were. King Joffrey had mentioned something about the Hound last night, hadn't he? He'd accused Sansa of putting the Hound up to guard her door. At once, Sansa felt herself breathing rapidly. What if the Hound _had _heard? She did her best to keep her eyes on the floor, to keep from reacting. "I know not what you mean," she said sharply, but was pained to hear her own voice crack at the end.

He threw her back a look she didn't care for, a pained and pitiful glance. Who was he to judge her anyway? What was he to anyone? And really, if he _did _know, did he think she had any choice? "Little bird," he said, and stared ahead again. His voice was tired as usual. "I know the king visited your room last night and I very much doubt anything good came of it."

Sansa's face was hot and she searched her brain for an answer, for anything. "He only came by to give me a present!" she said in a hurried tone.

"Ah," the Hound said in a light tone. "And are you hiding your present with that ribbon on your throat?"

At once, Sansa's hand went to her neck. "No!" she all but shouted, "this is for decoration! He didn't—he gave me a present, I said, he gave me a jewel!" It wasn't far off, not too far off; the King had given her gifts before—

"A jewel," repeated the Hound, and Sansa heard him emit a bitter laugh.

"Yes, a jewel," she said hotly. "What do you care anyway? Should you really be sneaking around people's doors at night? He's the king. He can—"

-"Do as he pleases," the Hound finished, and threw back a grim smile at Sansa. "Yes, that's something we all know too well. He didn't hurt you, then?" The question was spoken in a dubious way, like the Hound wouldn't believe Sansa even if she told him the most well-crafted lie in the world.

"No," Sansa heard herself saying in a firm, flat tone. "He'd never really hurt me. He is my beloved." She was pleased with herself for being so unyielding even when the Dog's hulking frame and disfigured face put the spins in her stomach.

"The king takes great pleasure in hurting what he loves," the Hound scoffed, "perhaps even more than what he hates. You'd do well to remember that, little bird."

"You're treasonous," Sansa hissed, hot tears stinging in her eyes, her hands flying to her hips. "King Joffrey is good and fair! And I'm not your little bird!" She took off running, her blood red gown flying behind her and her carefully-arranged curls getting ruined by motion. The tears she'd been stifling during dinner leaked out then, and she covered her sobs in the crook of her arm. She heard the Hound laughing sardonically behind her and this made her cry even more. Obviously, he only wanted to see her embarrassed. He wanted to see her fail like everyone else in this horrible place.

When Sansa burst into her chambers, she was thrilled to see Shae there tending the fire. The dark-haired handmaiden rose to her feet, her pretty face twisted in concern. "What have they done to you?" she asked as Sansa ran into her arms, pressing herself into Shae's shoulder. Her sobs had become quiet and breathy, and she shook her head into Shae's shoulder.

"It was Joffrey's dog," she said quietly. "He was at the door last night. He was _mocking _me, Shae! Oh, what if he heard? What if he knows?"

"What exactly did he say, my lady?" Shae asked in a firm voice, pulling Sansa back and holding her head in her hands. Shae's fearless face gave Sansa a sliver of hope; after all, Shae would not laugh at her, not in a time like this.

"He asked about this," Sansa said, clawing at the ribbon on her neck. At her efforts, it unraveled, revealing the purple-black sore. "And he acted like he was caring, like he was giving me advice, but he's Joffrey's. Like everyone else here! I just know he was checking up on me, seeing if I'd tell. I can't trust anyone, Shae. Anyone but you."

"Good," Shae nodded, "you're getting smarter. Trust no one. Stay alive. You only do what the King tells you to do because there's nothing else that can be done. You're still going to be his wife, and if you please him you'll have your head. Forget about the Hound. Tell me, how did the dinner go? Was his grace in a good mood?"

Sansa nodded her head. "Better than usual—"

"This is excellent news," Shae commented, ushering Sansa to the mirror and sitting her down firmly in the chair before it. "The king isn't like most men I've encountered so this gives me hope. You have something he wants now. Likely before he had it, he did not know what he was missing. He was probably cocky without it, didn't think he needed it." At this grownup kind of talk, Sansa's face went red and she subconsciously pushed her legs together. Shae continued talking as she selected a brush from the vanity and began to soothingly comb out Sansa's curls. "Did he say anything else?"

"It was queer. He wants us to spend more time together," Sansa nodded, closing her eyes as Shae brushed. "It was almost like how I pictured him before everything went foul. He wants us to go horseback riding, to take walks in the gardens. He was almost delighted, the way he spoke about it—"

"I bet he was," Shae snorted. "He's going to want you again."

Sansa cringed. "I hate him. I don't want him to touch me—"

"You have to remember what I told you," Shae said in a serious tone. "You can let him inside you but don't let him in your mind—"

"I couldn't do it!" Sansa protested. "He wouldn't let me—"

"You must try harder," Shae urged. "You _will _survive this yet."

Sansa nodded, encouraged by Shae's bold tone. Sansa didn't know if she would survive it, after all, she was not brave like Arya or Robb. She wasn't unique like Jon or shrewd like Mother or steadfast in her beliefs like her late father. But the way Shae talked to her made her feel like she could pretend (if for only a second) that she would be able to pull through this and come out, on the other side, alive.


	6. The Drowning Stag

A/N: Many thanks to all who are reading! My plan for this story is to end just after the Purple Wedding. This was a fun chapter to write. It just isn't Joffrey's day. -Mister Friction

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Chapter Six: _The Drowning Stag_

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JOFFREY

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* * *

Joffrey was having a wonderful week. He'd been in a grand mood, he'd slept better than he had in ages, and he'd had the pleasure of seeing Sansa at dinner each night. They had not had an opportunity to be alone as Joffrey had been quite busy with affairs of the kingdom (as tedious as _that _was), but seeing her in the evenings made the evenings end on a pleasurable note. He was unsure what had changed him so much; it was as though someone had addled his brains. There was a spark in him now when he saw Sansa. His mouth went dry and his heart beat more rapidly as he imagining mounting her again, his cock pushed deep into her perfect hole. He pictured his hands in her hair and his breath on her neck and ears, her lips on his. The sweet smiles and praise she gave him made him wish he was inside her even moreso and he was biding his time, waiting for the next open opportunity. She even sat by his side at the end of the week, her head held high, as Joffrey punished a chamber maid for allegedly stealing a golden goblet from his bedroom. Joffrey had her hands chopped off there right there before the court and Sansa merely stared on and smiled at him back at him when he threw her an eager grin. Could Sansa possibly have more to her than Joffrey had previously thought? It seemed so. Maybe he'd been judging her too harshly. Perhaps she _could _sit by his side and be his queen, his match. It was a new and exciting prospect for Joffrey, who couldn't seem to get enough of admiring Sansa's dark red hair and long eyelashes, and the curves of her body he had not fully appreciated until now. He felt like a proper man; he could do anything. He could conquer lands and kill enemies, and take any woman he wanted for his own. But for now, he was quite satisfied with Lady Sansa.

At the week's end, Joffrey instructed Uncle Tyrion to formally invite Sansa to ride horseback with him directly after breakfast the next afternoon. "Ah, am I a raven now as well as hand of the king?" questioned his uncle in a tone of amusement.

"You would argue my command?" Joffrey snipped, fixing Tyrion with a dangerous expression.

"You'd do well to learn the true definition of the words you use," responded Uncle Imp with a smile. "Were I to argue, I would have done so more effectively. I was merely bringing into question your reasoning for me to invite Lady Sansa for you when, according to your mother, you dine with Sansa each evening now. But I am not complaining, nor am I arguing. I have need to stretch my legs, and Lady Sansa is actually a pleasant diversion from others around the castle who I must deal with more routinely."

Joffrey squinted at his uncle, never certain if the man was insulting him or not. "Yes," he finally said with a nod and a smirk, "yes, she is quite pleasant, isn't she?"

"Your change of heart is interesting. We're all very glad to see you treating your betrothed with a bit more respect as of late, unless it's all a game." Tyrion made a face. "Oh, don't tell me. You are not planning to take a horseback ride to show off some estranged Stark's severed head, are you?"

"No," Joffrey spat, "whose head would I have? I haven't had any Starks murdered lately, though I wish I had! I will as soon as I encounter another one! With my own two hands, I'll rip their heads off their necks like I've done with pigeons!"

"I bet you will!" Uncle Imp raised up a hand. "But save this topic for your romantic horse ride. I am sure as soon as you bring this into your conversation, Sansa will be swooning over you like the flies in the stable linger upon shit-"

"Are you calling me _shit_?" Joffrey screamed, leaping off the throne and stomping the ground like a young bull. "How dare you! Take it back!"

"You're getting quicker," Uncle Imp commented lightly. "I really must tread more carefully-"

Joffrey ignored him, continuing to shout: " I WON'T HAVE YOU INSULTING ME LIKE THIS! I WANT YOU OUT OF HERE, NOW! GO DO AS I'VE ASKED YOU!"

"I'm certain your betrothed would enjoy hearing that her king had a shrieking fit reminiscent of a toddler- shall I pass that on as well?"

"I WISH I HAD YOUR HEAD!" was Joffrey's enraged response, his face turning pink, the vibrant color of rage and shame mixed.

His uncle let out a faint chortle. "Yes, I'm certain that would make you very happy. At least for a few minutes, that is, as your attention span has proven to be quite nonexistent. Now, as your hand, I must advise you to breathe deeply. Panic attacks are not very kingly-"

"I'LL BREATHE HOW I WISH TO BREATHE!" Joffrey bellowed, and stepped down onto the floor directly in front of his uncle. "First you go telling on me to my mother, and now this!"

"What about your mother?" Uncle Tyrion questioned, one eyebrow raised high and then he sighed. "So, she told you I confided in her about the prostitutes-"

"You expect her to keep secrets from her own son? From the _king?_ Anyway," Joffrey said with a flick of his hand, "I don't care what she knows. She cannot do anything to me! But you anger me." He sniffed.

"So sorry to have _angered _you," voiced Tyrion with a hint of ice in his voice, "and forgive me for my concern over you battering a woman, for the sake of the Gods-"

"Not this again," Joffrey snorted, folding his arms and shaking his head with a sinister smile on his face. "I told you, Uncle. I didn't batter her. She was battered by the other prostitute. Blame her!"

"Are you impaired? Is there anything in your sick head?" Tyrion shouted, finally breaking. Joffrey's eyes widened and his mouth fell open in stunned surprise. "You held two women captive with a damned crossbow and you have the audacity to sit here and make an insensitive joke? Every day, you amaze me more and more! You really are a treasure, aren't you?"

"Your love for whores is depressing," Joffrey countered, forcing out a high-pitched laugh. "But I suppose I'd love them, too. That is, if I couldn't get a woman to fuck me unless I paid her-"

In one hard, fast motion, Uncle Imp leaned forward on his dwarfed legs and back-handed Joffrey across the face. Joffrey mewled loudly, clasping his burning cheek. "That's not for me," Tyrion said in a calm voice. "That's for the women you abused. I wish I could say I trust they were the last. But I suppose you're so demented, you can't get whatever dwells between your legs to be stiff unless you're acting like a tyrant." He gave a short, cynical laugh. "Tell me, nephew, had you run out of pigeons that day?"

Joffrey let out a guttural cry. After all, he'd only understood about half of what Tyrion had said, but he didn't like it. Not one bit. "GET OUT! YOU ARE DISMISSED!"

"Gladly, sire," said Tyrion with a theatrical curtsy, all fluttering hands and an exaggerated dipped stance. "Is there anything else I should pass onto Lady Stark? Can I assume you'll be in good spirits tomorrow or shall I instruct her to come equipped with a shield?"

"GET OUT!" Joffrey repeated, his loud voice echoing out into the foyer. Whistling merrily, Uncle Imp strolled throughout the throne room with an obnoxious skip in his step. Furiously, Joffrey moaned in pain and beat his fists at his sides.

From the entrance stepped Mother, a look of great concern written on her face. As Tyrion passed her, her face darkened even deeper. "What's the meaning of this?" she barked.

"I'm bonding with my nephew. We are _learning _things about each other," Tyrion nodded to her pleasantly. "And now I am on my way to deliver very important business by order of the king!" He continued to whistle as he exited the room.

"What's he done?" Cersei asked crisply, crossing over to Joffrey on fast feet, her skirts cascading out behind her as she moved.

"He was mocking me, Mother!" Joffrey protested, one hand still pressed to his cheek. "Are you certain I can't have him killed?"

Mother laughed lightly and smoothed Joffrey's hair with a tender hand. "I'm certain," she said softly.

"Well, then you're really no help to me," Joffrey said bitterly, ducking out of her grasp. Her motherly cooing no longer made him feel at ease. It was obnoxious and made him feel babyish. He didn't need his mother to come to his aide. Joffrey had Sansa now. "Why are you here, anyway? Has everyone set out to drive me mad today?"

"No, my son- I have come to report to you about the maid whose... whose hands were removed yesterday," Mother said, threading her fingers together.

"What about that thief?" Joffrey barked, hopping back onto the iron throne and crossing his legs in a casual stance. Mother hesitated. Impatient and still reeling from his uncle's blow and disrespectful words, Joffrey kicked the floor. "Get on with it!"

"There was evidence found that she may not have been a thief at all," Mother went on, and Joffrey scowled.

"Are you questioning my judgment?" he snapped. "She stole that goblet, Mother! It was missing from my chambers and she was the last in there! She was the last, I know she was!"

Mother put up her hands. "I'm merely telling you what has been passed out to me through Lord Varys-"

"You can tell that sorry eunuch that from now on he can go through me instead of my _mother,_" said Joffrey in a pained voice, but gestured her to step closer to his throne. "But go on. What was it he told you?"

She sighed, and moved in toward him. "The goblet was still in your chambers. It had fallen behind your desk."

Joffrey glared, feeling his temper rising again. _They're all out to get me, _he thought viciously. _Every single one of them! _"Who discovered this?"

"If you'll remember, yesterday before you had the maid's hands cut off she was trying to tell you she was innocent. The head maid did a thorough inspection of your chambers-"

"Without _my _permission?" Joffrey yowled. "She should be put to death! She should wait for my command before she searches my room with her filthy hands!"

Mother drew a breath. "That is really not the point- you disabled an honest woman, and another servant found the evidence."

"And now you believe I should listen to every cur and liar that ever walked the kingdom?" Joffrey demanded. He made a flippant hand gesture as if swatting a fly. "Likely she would have stolen something else, if she hadn't already!"

"I do not wish to fight with you, Joffrey. But this pattern of rash behavior is not very becoming and the servants are already beginning to talk. It's not appealing for them to see one of their own punished for a crime she did not commit. And now she is out of work. You've given her absolutely no choice in-"

"I told you, Mother. I don't like when you speak to me so. I'm finished for the day. If I sit here one more second, I shall lose my temper with you. Send word that I shan't be dining at the table tonight. I wish to take my meal alone. I can't stand to look at you for fear I'll be sick. Give Sansa my apologies," Joffrey said, leaving the throne. He made certain to bump into Cersei as he walked by her. _Blithering, stupid bitch! I wish I could tell her that I've gone against her. If only I could brag about it to her, to Tyrion- to all these little fools who make my life a hell! I will get back at all of them, just wait. _

Once he entered his chambers, he slammed the door and kicked the leg of his desk. Quills, ink and rolls of parchment fell to the floor. The ink bottles shattered, spewing tarry blacks and mossy greens across the polished flooring. The mess gave Joffrey a feeling of twisted contentment and so he upturned his chair too, and slung a large glass stag he'd inherited from his late father into the debris. He paused at the fantastic crack it made as it broke into several pieces. It sunk in the ink as though it was a real stag drowning in a dirty river, its lungs crushed by the black, rolling waves.

Tears spilled out of Joffrey's eyes then, because it was all so unfair- _just so unfair. _Because if Father hadn't have died it all wouldn't be so _difficult, so stressful. _And perhaps Father could have _taught _Joffrey a thing or two before he'd gone- _that would have been too much, wouldn't it!? That would have taken time away from hunting trips, and spending time with that blasted traitor Ned Stark! That would have taken time away from drinking and whores! Gods forbid that, _thought Joffrey savagely, and he broke an arrow on the leg of the chair before tossing it onto the heap. This was satisfying. _Fun._ In a violent swipe, he flung his chess set from the bedside table and ripped pages out of books, his sobbing growing into an angrier sound. The tears ran hot down his face as he growled and cried in unison. _No one taught me anything and they all make it my fault! They're all vile! No one is ever on my side!_

When Joffrey had destroyed several more figurines and smashed a bookend onto the floor, he flopped forward onto his bed, his head feverish with the effort of crying. He cried for what seemed like hours and hours, and he was both angry and relieved that no one came by to ask if he was alright. He beat his fists into the soft mattress and cried until he had no tears left to give, until his throat was burned raw. Joffrey cried until he forgot what was so terrible and soon, he was laughing instead, a raucous and panting sound. He sat up, dried his eyes and beamed so widely it could have easily been mistaken for a look of utmost hatred.


	7. Kill Hill

A/N: Super stoked on posting this chapter. Please review? (Thanks for the follows/favs, too) . And also, I meant to post warnings before that this story gets lemony but I figure if you're sticking around, you kind of expect that anyway.

_"Well, my eyes ain't green and my hair ain't yellow.  
It's more like the other way around!"_

-Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, "The Curse of Millhaven"

Chapter Seven: _Kill Hill_

* * *

_.._

SANSA

..

* * *

Shae was tying Sansa's hair back with a red ribbon to match the one that adorned her throat when a loud knock sounded at the chamber door, signifying that the Hound had arrived to escort her to dinner with the royal family. Instantly, Sansa's stomach did a series of clumsy cartwheels and she smoothed the front of her maroon gown before rising as Shae unlocked and opened the door. Sansa's nerves had been a wreck today. Earlier, Lord Tyrion had stopped by to deliver the unhappy news of King Joffrey's invitation to go horse-back riding the next morning. Although Sansa was more at ease around Tyrion than most of her captors, she had still felt her face pale at his words and she'd lied quickly when he commented that she looked as if she had seen a ghost. She'd spent the past hour readying herself to see Joffrey, and she'd practised exactly how she would bend her words tonight to make him feel like their upcoming horse-riding sounded like the best adventure in the entire world. She already hated herself for the insincerity, for the poison lies that fell out of her mouth so readily these days. Still, it was like Shae said- the more pleased Joffrey was, the less miserable Sansa would be. She'd already prayed seven times today that he wouldn't touch her tomorrow and that perhaps he'd be in a good mood and show her kindness. Did the gods stop listening after a certain amount of prayers? If that was so, they'd given up on her long ago.

"Best not be late for dinner, Lady Stark," the hound heaved in his gusty growl of a voice. "If I'm going to catch hell from his grace, it had better be for a better reason than his beloved wasting time perfecting her looks." He gave a dry laugh. "If you want to impress him, best to wear less and keep your mouth shut unless you're admiring him. At least, that's how I prefer _my _women."

Sansa felt the corners of her eyes wrinkle in an unintentional glower, but she gave a short dip of her head all the same and followed the dog into the slightly chill hallway. She bid Shae a farewell nod as her handmaiden gave her a curtsy. The exchange likely seemed unfamiliar to the Hound, but Sansa felt warmth spark through her at the smile Shae gave her as she left. It was extraordinary to have at least one person who seemed to care about her, even if Shae was a second rate handmaiden much of the time.

"I'm sorry, Ser," she muttered under her breath, staying a meter or so behind the tall man leading her. They walked in silence for several minutes, Sansa replaying conversation ideas in her head to beguile Joffrey. _I'm so looking forward to riding with you, your grace. Do you have a favorite horse? How long have you been riding? I remember how fun it was, riding with you in Winterfell. You looked so handsome that day... _Sansa felt a cold shudder ripple through her as she added, _before you drew blood out of little Mycah and then called my sister terrible, horrible words. _She mentally shook herself. _No! Stay focused on what was good. Make him remember you then, when you loved him, before it all went so wrong. Before he took away your maidenhead, made you worth_ nothing. She couldn't help but let her thoughts spiral out of control now. She could even feel a pulse, a pang, from where his hardness had filled the gap between her legs._ Will he really want me again? What if he has me killed because he's bored now? Shae says he'll want me again, but when?_

"Show me what's under the ribbon."

Sansa jumped as Ser Clegane wheeled around, his mussed up hair covering his eyes, canine teeth a wet, twisted smile. He was suddenly inches from her face. "I told you, it's-"

"Show me or I'll rip it off you," he wheezed, and she smelt a faint whiff of old wine on his breath.

Her heart racing, she clasped her throat as the Hound reached out a scarred, gnarled hand toward her face. Unlike Joffrey's clean, white fingers, the Hound's looked course and cracked and they were caked in dirt. "Don't _touch_ me!" she asserted, her voice high.

He laughed, even sounding like a dog. "Was the king doing a bit of sucking there, Lady Stark?"

"No!" Sansa shouted, going as red as her hair, she could feel it- she was mortified, she wanted to run.

"Too bad," the Hound grinned savagely, "I was about to say perhaps he's more normal than I thought. I won't touch you. I like my head." He narrowed his eyes and turned back around, marching toward the dining room entrance. "And don't accuse me of treason again, little bird. I serve his majesty with all my rotted heart. I'm only looking out for his young lady." As she walked past him to enter, he gave her a crooked wink. "Who knows? You might need me one day."

Sansa made a noise of exasperation, and with a roll of her blue eyes she entered the dining room and plastered on a smile for her future family. The Hound was nothing to her after all; he was only trying to scare her. She took a deep breath, smelling roasts, pies and puddings. Soon, her nose was free of Ser Clegane's pungent, raw scent. Myrcella and Tommen greeted her excitedly, and Cersei motioned for her to sit. _But where is Joffrey? _she thought worriedly. Somehow, his absence was more worrisome than his presence. Quickly, she curtsied and took a seat beside the queen.

"Good evening, little dove," Cersei greeted, looking gorgeous in green silk that brought out her ivy eyes. "My son wishes to give you his deepest apologies. He wasn't feeling well today and has opted to take supper in his room. He does hope you enjoy your food."

It took everything out of Sansa not to breathe an audible sigh of relief. Her artificial beaming smile was quickly replaced with a wide-eyed look of concern. "Oh, my poor Joffrey!" she found herself saying almost too easily, "has he fallen ill? Is it serious? Should I still meet him in the morning to ride?" _Is it a plague? Will he die? _she thought hopefully, trying not to grin.

"You sweet thing," tutted Cersei, snapping her fingers for wine. "It is not that sort of affliction. His grace was in a hot temper today, one that can only be remedied by time alone and a hot bath. He should be just right in the morning, though I shall send word to you if he is still out of sorts. Sometimes even kings have their moods." Cersei made a pained smile in a way that suggested to Sansa she wasn't exactly thinking about Joffrey. Sansa refrained from asking when Joffrey _wasn't _in a mood, though it took some effort.

Tommen popped several grapes in his mouth before saying, "I don't like when Joffy is in a bad mood. Bad things happen." Sansa looked up from her plate in curiosity. What was Tommen talking about? Did he know something?

"Do _not _speak with your mouth full!" Cersei snapped, her goblet of wine poised in midair. "Would you rather eat in the stable with the pigs?"

"No, Mother!" said Tommen, hanging his head blond head down, and swallowed.

"What did you say, Prince Tommen?" asked Sansa in a quiet, sweet voice.

"When my brother's in a bad mood, the bad things happen," said Tommen earnestly with a good-natured shrug of his shoulders. "But sometimes when he's happy, the bad things happen, too-"

"Oh, stop this nonsense. Don't speak about Joffrey in this way. He is your king now, and besides, he's had a difficult few weeks," Cersei said off-handedly, taking a delicate bite of lamb pie. But Sansa noticed the queen's gaze was growing as icy as Joffrey's could be, her green eyes flashing like a cat's.

Sansa's attention was no longer focused upon her plate of food at all. "Bad things?" she asked carefully, attempting to sound clueless so that the queen would not raise an eyebrow at her questions. Had Joffrey told his brother plans he had in store for her? _Joffrey's cruel enough to Tommen, always poking fun at him and insulting his sword fighting. But I've never seen him do anything worse than taunt him. _

Tommen nodded, apparently eager for an audience. "Yes, the bad things happen when Joffy gets you alone." Sansa felt her stomach give a jolt.

"_Tommen,"_ Princess Myrcella suddenly hissed, and very obviously kicked her brother under the table.

"This is quite enough!" Cersei announced loudly and cast a solemn look at Sansa. "Do _not _ask the prince anymore questions tonight. His lies are going to get him into trouble soon enough!"

"But Mother, I'm not-"

"Stop it!" Myrcella shouted. Sansa had never seen the princess so distraught; her cheeks were pale and she was shaking. Sansa replayed what had just happened in her mind, trying to make sense of it. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. But... Was there _anything_ good about Joffrey, anything she could use as a means to look forward to seeing him? Beyond his looks and his deceiving way of kissing tenderly, Sansa could find nothing right about him. He had invaded her, and though Shae pressed the fact that Sansa was not ruined, she definitely felt like it. He was her first time, and he'd likely be her only because she had no doubt he'd kill her before she could escape, before she could find her true prince charming and fulfill her wishes.

. . .

To Sansa's regret, there was no message indicating that the horse ride would be canceled, and so she choked down several bites of porridge and a hunk of brown bread with cheese before plunging her face into the basin of hot water that Shae brought up for her. She thought about staying in the water forever, opening her mouth and letting the water fill her lungs. Arya would smack her for such a dramatic thought. _At least she would have years ago_, Sansa mused darkly. Now maybe Arya would see the hopelessness in the situation and let her kill herself instead of reprimanding her for being weak. _Maybe, maybe not._ When Sansa emerged from the water, beads of liquid dripping off her face, she was sniffling. Even the water droplets could not mask the tears.

"What's all this?" Shae asked with a frown, handing Sansa a soft cloth to dry herself. "Why the crying so early?"

"My sister," Sansa wept lightly, feeling even more like Arya would find her stupid for being so emotional on a day when she needed to take complete charge. "I haven't seen her in months- she could be dead for all I know, and she-"

"Stop this," Shae said, not unkindly, but not in the gentlest tone she could take. Sansa looked up, baffled. "I don't know the king personally but I wager he doesn't want you crying today. You must be in control. A queen. _His _queen. There is nothing you can do for your sister. Not today, at least. Understood?"

Sansa snorted through her tears. "You shouldn't talk to me in such a way- you're my servant, you're-"

"I can be silent, then," Shae interrupted in a curt tone. "Come, we'll do your hair. And you should wear the green gown King Joffrey bought you after his Name Day. It says, _I am Beautiful, I am strong, I am Taller than You!_ "

"Shall I really say that? He'd _love _that," Sansa giggled, wiping her face. It was funny enough that she forgot to tell Shae she wasn't being silent in the least. Sansa wondered if the handmaiden even knew the definition of silence. "He can't stand that I'm taller than him, he absolutely hates it."

"Of course he hates it," Shae laughed, "his neck likely hurts from looking up at you."

"At least he's taller than the little lord. I can't even imagine," Sansa said, another chortle escaping her lips as Shae paused in tugging her curls. "Can you?" Sansa asked, when Shae said nothing for a moment.

Shae shrugged. "He seems an interesting fellow, that one."

"I was afraid of him at first," Sansa went on. "His looks are rather shocking. But I suppose he is nicer than many here."

"I wouldn't know," Shae said, pulling Sansa's hair back. She stood up and crossed to the dressing area. "I haven't ever met him." Sansa couldn't help but notice that Shae was no longer meeting her eyes, but she decided it meant nothing. Sansa had more important things to think about. They spent the next half hour perfecting her hair and bodice, making sure that she looked her best for her king.

. . .

Sansa had to admit to herself that she looked very beautiful and even a bit grown-up. The gown Joffrey had gifted her with was of a form-fitting deep green variety, and it did not leave much to the imagination when the bodice was pulled tight. It reminded Sansa of something Queen Cersei might wear. Today, Shae had set Sansa's locks in loose curls that fell just over her cleavage line and she wore the new riding boots that the late Robert Baratheon had given her when she had first arrived in King's Landing. At that time, Sansa had expected she'd be riding with Joffrey weekly, but they'd gathered dust in the lonely months since. She'd had them shined this morning and was glad they still fit. The sun was shining and even the Hound's gruff attitude did not ruin Sansa's positivity that today would go smoothly. When she was dropped off at the stables, King Joffrey was already there. He turned around, and she saw happiness on his face. She breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he _would_ be in high spirits. Her prayers had worked.

"My lady," Joffrey greeted, with a formal bow, "I'm very pleased to see you. Have you had a good morning so far?" He was riding a deep blue velvet riding coat and brandishing a crop in his outstretched hand. Glistening black boots were on his feet, adding several inches to his height.

"Yes!" Sansa said, almost forcefully as she curtsied. Blushing, she noticed Joffrey's eyes immediately fixing themselves to the plunging neckline of the gown. "It's lovely outside-"

"I didn't invite you out to talk about the weather," Joffrey said bluntly, but he was still smiling. "I like this on you. It's not red, but I like it-"

"Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot- I wore it because you bought it for me!" Sansa immediately put in, mentally cursing Shae for suggesting the green frock, _if I catch it for the dress, it's all her fault, if she gets me in trouble I'll-_

Joffrey snorted, striding forward. "I said I liked it. Don't be stupid, Sansa. If I bought it for you, it means I wish to see it on you. You do like it, don't you?" he asked, and stopped just in front of Sansa, grasping the material of her sleeve between his fingers. Sansa's heart pounded in her chest and she was relieved when he pulled his hand back. "I had it made specially for you. Mother helped with the design. She has good taste, doesn't she?"

_Ah, so that is why it reminds me of the Queen. Exposed neckline and all, _thought Sansa, remembering her mother's negative opinion of Cersei's outfits and in contrast how gorgeous Sansa had thought Cersei was. It was once Sansa's aspiration to be just like the queen. She nodded several times. "I love it," she said.

He beamed and put a hand on her waist, drawing her closer to him. _Please, no, no, _she thought, but all he did was plant a soft kiss on her lips. Despite herself, Sansa's legs still went a bit weak with the kiss. When he wasn't biting her and shoving his tongue in her mouth, the king was actually a decent kisser. This made Sansa feel even worse; she wished everything was despicable about Joffrey. It made her sick that she actually _liked _his kisses. "Well, we should get on to it," the king went on, pulling off her and gesturing to a large black stallion that was pawing the grass and whinnying just outside the stable door. "We're going to ride Death's Door." Joffrey gave a little laugh and smiled excitedly. "I named him."

_Clearly. "''We'_, your grace?" Sansa asked tentatively as Joffrey clomped up to the horse and gave it an unneccessarily heavy-handed slap on its side. Death's Door whinnied loudly and reared up, and Joffrey laughed again, a cold, high sound. Despite the warm morning, Sansa shivered, thinking of how Joffrey had laughed while he'd taken her maidenhead, and the sound of his private parts slapping inside of her.

"Yes, I'd like you to ride with me," Joffrey said importantly. "Why shouldn't we share a horse? I can show you how fast I can ride. Likely you wouldn't be able to keep up!" He put his boot in the stirrups, and swung up onto Death's Door. "Hound, help my lady onto my horse!"

"As you wish," the Hound grunted, but Sansa shook her head.

"I can do it myself," she said, and at Joffrey's darkening glance, she added, "I can at least get halfway up, but your grace may need to help me so I don't fall."

Joffrey nodded, looking important. "Very well. You are dismissed, Hound. We don't need you." As Sansa slipped her boot through the stirrups, she raised up her hand and Joffrey caught it in his own, gripping her strongly. He hoisted her onto Death's Door and she settled behind him, trying to arrange her dress in a ladylike manner. "Put your hands on my waist!" Joffrey snapped, and Sansa instantly complied, gingerly doing as he wished. "Here we go!" Joffrey shouted and, without a second's thought, he brought the riding crop down with an enormous _snap! _Death's Door panicked, rearing up slightly and then pounding the ground, taking off into a gallop.

Sansa shrieked and had no choice but to cling to Joffrey with all her might. He laughed maniacally as they went, the gardens zooming by in an emerald green golden blur. "Please, please, please, your grace! Please slow down! It's too much!" she cried out, closing her eyes. She felt naseous and the last thing she wanted to do was to get sick in front of King Joffrey. She figured he wouldn't like that.

But Joffrey responded by digging the spurs of his boots into the horse's sides and though Sansa didn't think it was possible, they went even faster. She buried into Joffrey's velvet coat, her head spinning. Her fingers were sore from clutching the king's waist and she finally wrapped her arms completely around him, so sure they were going to fall. At long last, Joffrey shouted: "Woa! Woa!" and Death's Door came to an abrupt halt. "That was fun," commented Joffrey lightly as Sansa whimpered into the soft material of his coat.

Her eyes fluttered open. They were in unfamiliar territory to Sansa, on the outskirts of the kingdom's vast gardens. The trees and shrubbery were thicker here, and shadows hung over them. "Where are we?" she whispered, and then, as an afterthought, "your grace?"

"I told you I'd show you around today," said Joffrey in what sounded like an irritable tone. He gave a chuckle spiked with maliciousness. "Were you really that scared?"

"You were going so fast, your grace," she responded, head still spinning slightly. There was something off-putting about their location; Sansa disliked how secretive it felt, how closed in. It was like a maze in a fairytale.

Joffrey's voice dropped into a low sound and he placed his own hands over Sansa's, gently interlocking his fingers in hers. "Or did you want to be closer to me?"

_How does he expect me to answer? Say 'no' and I'll be in trouble for saying I didn't want to be close to him. Say 'yes' and he has grounds to accuse me of being improper. I'm anything but improper! _Sansa bit her lip, cheeks flushing as she was struck with the memory: _I'm no longer a maiden, I let him take me. I'm not as proper as I once was, I've gone against my parents' wishes and I'm not a lady at all. _

"Answer me," Joffrey snarled, and he gripped her hands hard.

"Yes, your grace. I wanted to be close to you, but I was also scared. Thank you for stopping the horse," she mumbled, her hands pulsing in pain until Joffrey loosened his grip.

Joffrey did not respond but instead let out a long sigh and shifted his weight on the saddle. "Have you thought about me? About what we did?" he asked, and he sounded sweet. Like the boy Sansa had first met in Winterfell. She tried with all her might not to let her mind wander. She had to keep focused.

"Yes, your grace-"

"Joffrey," he said. "Call me 'Joffrey', unless I say so. So, you've thought about me, then?"

"Yes," Sansa said, shutting her eyes once more and trying to lose herself in the swirls of color she could see in the darkness. "Yes, Joffrey, I've thought about you." Her voice was low, a whimper. She was afraid he'd be angry at her nervous tone, but he did not seem to notice or care. His grip on her hands grew strong again and he pulled her right hand in his own and slid it down the front of his trousers. Sansa shuddered and shut her eyes tighter, her thoughts racing. _Do as he wants, you must do as the king wants, the king does as he pleases, please him, that's what Shae said, Shae said men only want one thing, only I don't want to give it but I have, I already have, think about something else- names of flowers, roses, hyacinth, poppy, orchid, Septa Mordane said the orchid was her favorite, her head high on the castle wall, Father's head, Father, don't think of father- _

"Faster," Joffrey commanded, and Sansa broke out of her hurried thoughts to the realization her hand was positioned over the king's groin and she'd been stroking him. For how long, she was not sure. Despite her horror, she was pleased with herself. She'd done as Shae had advised, if only for a bit of time. She'd left reality.

Sansa felt her heartbeat begin to race again and all of the spit in her mouth dry up. She was going to be punished for this but there was no way out but to please King Joffrey. Before he could reprimand her, Sansa did as he had instructed and pulled her fingers up and down the material of his trousers. She could feel his hardness there and she was all too aware now of what it meant. Wordlessly she stroked, working up a fast motion. Her hand began shaking.

Joffrey sighed again, and his breathing quickened. She could feel his chest rising and dropping, and he let out a soft moan. Unsure of what to do, Sansa kept going faster until he wrenched her hand off his trousers. "That's too much!" he whined. "Listen to me when I tell you what to do!"

"I'm sorry, your... I'm sorry, Joffrey," Sansa gasped, tears forming in her eyes.

"Are you okay, my lady?" he asked suddenly, his tone sugary again. He swiveled his head to look at Sansa, a look of concern on his face. His cheeks were slightly pink.

"I'm fine," she whispered, afraid to make another mistake.

"Let us walk about for a moment," Joffrey said, and swung off the horse, sticking the riding crop inside his coat and holding out a hand. He helped Sansa off the horse in such a gentlemanly way that she tried with all her might to forget he'd just made her touch him. "Take my arm," he said politely, and Sansa complied but took care not to squeeze too hard.

_He's the boy you loved, the boy you wanted, he's good and pure and you love him and you'll marry him one day. _

Joffrey gestured to their left. "There's something I want to show you."

Sansa followed his grand gesture off the green path but saw nothing but a mound of dirt. It was a _large _mound of dirt, but a mound of dirt nonetheless. It stood about one and a half meters off the ground admist several large shrubs. Joffrey wasted no time in leading her closer to the pile, and Sansa was displeased when she saw a mass of flies buzzing dully around it. "What is it, your grace? I mean, Joffrey."

"It's been here quite some time," Joffrey went on in a cheerful tone, thankfully not angering at her misstep in calling him by his formal title. "It's where they've instructed the servants to bury my kills. My parents, I mean."

"Your kills?" Sansa asked, furrowing her brow.

"Yes, my pets. My siblings' pets. Animals I find and want to play with when I'm bored," Joffrey explained, still in that gleefully upbeat tone.

Sansa stared at him, her mouth slightly ajar. "Your.. pets?"

"Well, yes, what else am I supposed to do when they displease me? Sometimes they bite me. Or I get tired of them. Others can be hunted and skinned but some are just fun to play with," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. To Sansa's great disgust, the boy-king kicked at the soil and laughed as a group of flies took off into the sunny sky. "I call it Kill Hill!" he announced proudly.

"Oh-oh, my Gods, why-"

"You look upset," Joffrey said, the corners of his mouth turning down. "I think it's funny. Why don't you?"

"Because-" Sansa stopped herself, but she knew she'd already done it. _How could I possibly think this is funny? How does he expect me to react? _"I'm a lady, Joffrey," she said quickly, trying to evade his wrath and hoping he'd take her away from this horrid place as soon as possible. "I don't like death."

"I know," he smiled. "But if you're going to be my queen, there are some things you should get used to." And with that, King Joffrey gave Sansa a slight shove (if this were anyone else at any other time, she might even call it a _playful _shove) and Sansa tumbled right on top of Kill Hill.

* * *

To Be Continued.


	8. Like a Sickness

A/N: Thanks so much for the feedback and favs/alerts. GAME OF THRONES SEASON FOUR- WOO. I needed to make an updated list of warnings based on the development of my plot ideas. So, here ya go:

**Warning/potential trigger alerts: **Dominance/Submission, intense scenes of sexual abuse (including torture, sexual sadism, and non-graphic references to child abuse), violence, non-graphic references of harm to animals/children, incest, underage characters participating in sex acts, and older characters having sexual/romantic thoughts about underage characters. There might be other stuff that comes up, and I will try to warn my readers accordingly. I figure if you're reading this, you're well-aware that Joffrey is an extremely messed up individual, but what I hope to accomplish is to show depth into his character and give a reasonable explanation for how he got so fucked up. Also, this story equally focuses on Sansa, who is obviously a victim of sexual assault/violence/torture, and she has to use survivor skills to get through her situation. Basically, rough shit. I know it's labeled "romance" and that's possibly misleading right now, but it will be romance- just not traditional, happy romance. Stockholm Syndrome and abuse can do some real intense psychological damage to a person and as a psychology student/someone who works with at-risk-youth, I have a hard time believing that Joffrey Baratheon was simply "just born evil".

Thanks for reading and I hope you continue to review!

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Chapter Eight: _Like a Sickness  
_

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_.._

JOFFREY

_.._

* * *

Sansa toppled, arms outstretched, onto the pile of festering dirt and Joffrey grinned as she began to scream. It was a high-pitched, nervous kind of scream, like a lamb being slowly pulled to pieces. It sent a pleasant sort of shudder throughout Joffrey's body as he watched her struggling for a way to right herself. Joffrey was a connoisseur of ladies' screams: he liked them vigorous and loud, piercing and full of terror. Sometimes it was very difficult for Joffrey to acquire an erection, and it was often even more laborious to maintain one, but the screams of women often did the trick. He'd gone hard the instant Sansa had begun screaming on the horse ride and with some luck, he hoped he'd stay hard long enough to use Sansa's body again, or at least have some sort of enjoyment.

"Oh dear, how _clumsy _of you," he commented ecstatically. His voice grew louder and his face was warm from smiling. "Don't touch that mound there," he said in a high, excited voice, gesturing to the left of Sansa. "That's where I buried a stray dog yesterday after I broke all of its legs. It wasn't quite dead. Perhaps it's still under there. ALIVE." He grabbed Sansa hard around the neck and she jumped, letting out another trilling shriek. Joffrey threw back his head and roared with laughter. Whimpering bursts came from Sansa's mouth as she grappled for a way to stand up without falling completely in the dirt. Death's Door got spooked and took off back toward the castle, whinnying loudly.

"Honestly," Joffrey exclaimed, wiping the tears of glee from his eyes with a careful sweep of his velvet sleeve, "it's a _joke, _Sansa! Everything in this dirt has been dead, dead, dead for ages!" He shrugged. "I don't get much fun from killing animals anymore. Haven't done it for quite some time." _That got tedious, _he thought, _and I'm not a little boy anymore. Now it's punishments in court and keeping King's Landing to my liking. My, I wish I could have seen the little bastard babies getting slaughtered and the child bastards running away before my men extinguished their lives. Now, that's exciting! _

She turned around to look at him, an expression of horror twisted on her pretty face. Her cheeks were red and she was shaking violently. Joffrey wondered why she was so upset—it was obvious he was having a go at her, wasn't it? "Oh," she said tentatively, "I suppose I should have known you were only joking, my king—"

"_Joffrey," _he reminded her. "When we're alone, you call me _Joffrey._" Gallantly, he took Sansa gently by the waist and helped her to her feet, plastering on a sweet smile. Sansa seemed to survey him for awhile, and finally smiled back. She looked so good in her custom gown, with her bosom peeking out from the emerald green bodice. Joffrey tried to take a few breaths, his heart pounding. His erection was pulsing even stronger in his tight trousers and as Sansa straightened up with her backside pressed against his groin, it took everything out of him to resist throwing her back down and taking her right there. However, he did not want to get his hands or clothes soiled. It was also unfortunate Sansa had gotten dirt on her beautiful gown. It very nearly spoiled her beauty. Joffrey hated dirtiness, absolutely despised feeling unclean or looking at filthy things. He kept his weapons spotless and ordered for his chambers to be deep-cleaned even when there was no dirt to be seen. Filth gave him an automatic gag reflex. Instantly, he looked away from the bottom of her gown, already feeling slightly ill.

"Thank you, Joffrey," said Sansa, curtsying.

"Funny. You didn't even scream when I showed you your father's head!" he said with a grin, shifting his weight and tugging on his riding coat to cover the obvious bulge.

Sansa blinked several times and then she averted her gaze. Joffrey watched her closely, waiting for her response. "Well, he was a traitor," she whispered, "and you're to be my husband."

Joffrey beamed. "That is correct. But you'd do well to look at my eyes when you speak to me," he said in a soft voice, putting his hand to the side of her face. Her skin was smooth and warm beneath his fingers.

"I'm sorry," Sansa said softly, and her sapphire eyes fluttered open, locking into Joffrey's gaze. He felt his chest give a jolt. "Sometimes I get so happy around you… I'm just too nervous to look upon you. You're my king, after all."

"I understand," Joffrey nodded, considering her answer. She was _happy _with him. It must have meant he'd done something right. He hoped so—it would be shattering if she pointed out something he'd done wrong, some way he'd faltered. He wanted Sansa to love and fear him equally. Joffrey enjoyed when Sansa was frightened but he also wished very much for her to enjoy the feeling of him, the way he touched her. He would have never thought he'd care so much but being with Sansa physically had put a more positive spin on their impending marriage. Before, he hadn't seen what the big deal was but now, he had found himself thinking more and more about bedding Sansa.

In fact, the thought of seeing Sansa was the very thing that had brought Joffrey out of his deep gloom yesterday evening. He'd been filled with a great amount of exhilaration when he'd imagined riding with her, being by her side, and kissing her. Being able to touch his lips to hers this morning had instantly brightened his spirits, and he'd gone hard almost instantly. _Who'd have thought I'd be interested in spending time with Sansa Stark? _he found himself thinking for the hundredth time that week, his hand still tenderly pressed to her face. _Months ago I was angry about my betrothal, but I was just a child then. How could I have known how good it would feel to be inside her? _The mere mental image of Sansa's face staring up at him as he entered her filled him with anticipation. Joffrey hoped perhaps this would cure him. Maybe it could be enough now, simply having intercourse with Sansa. His fantasies were becoming difficult to maintain.

"I like you best when you smile at me," he decided, and planted a brief kiss on her cheek. "Your screams are good to hear, but you're prettiest when you're happy." As he said it, he realized it very well might be the truth. With that he let his hands drop to her silken waist and he leaned into her, pressing his mouth against hers. He sighed into her mouth as he felt Sansa return the kiss, felt her hands very slowly move to his back. Hungrily, Joffrey drove his tongue through her lips and to his great dismay, Sansa let out a yelp. "Have I displeased you?" Joffrey asked in an abrupt tone, feeling his ears going hot. He stared at Sansa in an incredulous way. _Baby, _he thought, _just as much of a baby as Tommen and Myrcella! _

Sansa shook her head instantly. "You surprised me, Joffrey," she said in an instant, and gave a faint giggle. "Do you think we should go back? Your horse ran off- someone might come, shouldn't we-"

"Do you _want _to go back?" he asked sharply, eying Sansa in a careful way. If she was anyone else, he'd suspect she was trying to get away from him. But he knew Sansa wouldn't treat him that way, not after they'd shared such intimacy together.

"No, I don't. I wish to spend as much time with you as I possibly can," said Sansa quickly, her hands fluttering to her hair where she toyed with her curls.

"Good!" Joffrey said brightly, relieved. "I don't want to go back, either! Come, we should walk off the path." _I might not be able to wait until she's got a clean dress on. I could take her now, fast, against a tree. Perhaps on the ground. Mother would say this kind of exchange is improper but... what does she know anyway? As of late, she's proving that her head is emptier than I would have ever thought. _"Come on!" he said urgently, breaking himself out of his wandering thoughts. His betrothed looked at him, wide-eyed, as he snatched her hand and pulled her past Kill Hill into the deeper cluster of trees beyond the paved path. Joffrey pushed Sansa against the nearest tree and pushed against her mouth once more, carefully nibbling her bottom lip with the very tip of his teeth.

Shadowed by the thick brush, a soft breeze rippled around them, making Sansa's hair flutter like crimson butterflies. _You're beautiful, you're mine, you're perfect, _he thought, but he did not say the words aloud. These were weak thoughts that he drove out of his mind immediately. Joffrey's lips wandered over Sansa's cheek where he left light kisses in a trail that wove down her neck and then across her ear. He breathed in, grabbing her breasts in his hands and squeezing them with a soft pressure. His tongue between his teeth, he slid his hands into her bodice and grappled for her nipples. When he found them, he teased them with light pinches, sighing into Sansa's ear. She let out a long, soft moan and he grunted in response, pressing harder against her, his solid groin bumping against her leg.

"I want you," he said in a dry, deep whisper, removing his hands from her bosoms and staring intently at her face. "Do you want me to be inside you again?"

Sansa was silent, her eyes closed tightly. "Not here," she whispered, so quietly that he almost did not hear her.

"Eyes open!" Joffrey snarled, embarrassed by the lack of excitement in her voice. "How dare you suggest that, how dare you! Don't you want me?"

"Yes," Sansa nodded, her eyes immediately opening. She was wide-eyed and he could almost feel her fear. "I want you very much, my king—I—I want your lips on mine and I _love _you, I love you more than anything—I'm just afraid someone will come looking for us and—"

"Don't worry, Sansa," Joffrey said, his voice soft again. He breathed deeply, trying to keep calm. "I want to be alone with you, too. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps now is not a good time."

A pretty smile grew on Sansa's face and she nodded. "Yes! Yes, thank you, Joffrey! I agree! I feel we should go find your poor horse, shall we go?"

Joffrey nodded, and kissed the corner of her mouth lightly, feeling Sansa's breathing grow rapid once more. "A fine idea," he agreed, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. "And I can visit you in your chambers tonight!" He smiled and led Sansa back toward the path. At her silence, Joffrey snapped his head toward her and squeezed her hand even harder. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," Sansa said in a low voice, keeping his eye contact. "I'd like that very much, Joffrey."

"Good," he said, grinning. "But it wouldn't really matter if you liked it or not. I _will _have you again, Lady Sansa. Still, it pleases me to know you feel the same! It seems you are becoming smarter! I had my doubts about our betrothal, but it has been so nice to get along with you this week. I've enjoyed your company."

The birds chirped in the trees as they walked, and the shining sun followed them persistently as they trailed the pathway toward the castle. Sansa's hand was limp in Joffrey's but she still held onto him. "Yes, it's been very nice. I enjoy dining with you and I'm very pleased to have made you happy."

"It's good to be with someone so agreeable," Joffrey went on, enjoying the sound of his own voice as usual. "My mother and uncle have been thorns in my side this entire week! Can you believe my uncle would speak against me? He questioned me and insulted me! I really wish I could have him strung up by his feet so I could use him as target practice for my crossbow!" Joffrey laughed at the thought of it. "It would be great fun, don't you think?" He dropped Sansa's hand to make a motion of shooting an arrow with a bow and imitated the sound of the arrow swooshing through the air. "Right in the heart!" He grinned at Sansa brightly, but was dismayed to see her subdued expression. "Oh come on, it's a laugh!"

Sansa smiled back weakly. "It's very funny, Joffrey. But your uncle was likely only trying to help you—"

"No," Joffrey said abruptly, shaking his head from side to side. He put his arm around Sansa's waist. "You don't know anything about it. My uncle is a menace, a bigger pain than you'd expect from such a little imp." He laughed but then his brow furrowed with the memory of the awfulness of yesterday. "And then my _mother _had the nerve to tell me I'd made the wrong decision about the maid!"

"Oh. The maid whose hands were cut off?" asked Sansa in a quiet tone.

Joffrey tightened his grip on her waist. "Yes, her. My mother said there was evidence she didn't steal anything at all, and tried to guilt me by telling me I'd had an honest woman punished but if she hadn't stolen anything yet, she surely would!" He sniffed the air haughtily. "I have great intuition about such things—"

"She didn't steal anything?" Sansa asked, and Joffrey sent her a questioning glance. "I mean, you're absolutely correct, I'm certain she would have stolen something. Is this why…" She stopped talking.

"Why what?" Joffrey said, but Sansa did not reply. He stopped in his tracks, bringing them both to a halt, leaves crackling under their feet. The birds sang around them, chattering and chanting. "Why _what?" _Joffrey pressed.

"I just was worried about you yesterday," Sansa said quickly. "You were not at dinner and the queen said you were feeling unwell, and I was only going to ask if that was why—if you were angry at your mother and uncle, I'd understand certainly, you have good reason—"

"Stop babbling!" Joffrey shouted, suddenly feeling rage surging through him like a violent wave. "My mother said _what?"_

Sansa's tone grew hurried and fearful. "I was sorry for your absence at dinner, my king! Your mother only said that you were feeling unwell—"

"What _exactly _did she say? TELL ME!" Joffrey hollered, his face growing hot with shame. _How dare Mother open her fat mouth! How dare she tell my lady about my personal business? What if Mother heard me crying? What if she told Lady Sansa? How dare she! _

"Just that you had a bad day, Joffrey! Nothing else! And I was only worried because I wanted to see you, I just wondered if you were doing poorly—"

"I was NOT DOING POORLY," Joffrey insisted. "I was only tired! It's very difficult to be in charge of an entire kingdom, something you'd never know about since you're just a stupid, ridiculous little girl!

"I didn't say anything, Joffrey—I didn't mean offense—please don't be upset!"

"I'M NOT UPSET," Joffrey bellowed, balling his fists at his side. "You don't know anything about it!"

"It's not—I'm not—" Sansa drew a breath, and shook her head. "Please, Joffrey! I care about you—don't—please—" She reached out to touch his hand and he jumped back as though she were about to wound him.

"Don't you dare touch me without my permission!" he said, eyes wild, hands up and blocking himself from her. He went flaccid at once, feeling the hot feeling of disgrace pulse through him like a sickness. He wanted her away from him, far away. "DON'T. EVER. TOUCH. ME." Sansa's arm was paused in midair and she'd gone moon-white, her eyes wide and scared. Joffrey wanted to slap her hard across the face. He glared at her, hating her all over again. _The l__ittle bitch, _he thought, _she needs to be punished! She's obviously learned nothing! _At that moment, Joffrey remembered the riding crop he'd stowed in his coat.

"I'm really sorry, Joffrey-"

"_Your grace,_" he corrected in a crisp tone. "You've insulted me and so I wish for you to address me formally! And I have an idea to make up for your disrespect."

"Lady Stark. King Joffrey," said a gruff, loud voice. "I've come to see if you need assistance- the horse came back unattended. And then I heard shouting."

Joffrey and Sansa both turned to face the speaker. It was the Hound, who bowed his head as soon as Joffrey made eye contact with him. "Ah, hello Dog," greeted Joffrey in an overly courteous tone. "You actually arrived just in time." A strange sort of smile curled upon his thin, long mouth as he removed the riding crop and held it outstretched in his hand. "My lady chose to insult my honor by asking personal questions about my pastime. I'd like for you to teach her a lesson."

The Hound's dull eyes dropped to Joffrey's hand, and back up to meet his gaze. "And what, pray tell, do you ask for me to do, my king?"

"I want you to strike her, good and hard," Joffrey said, folding his arms and smiling smugly. "I want you to strike her until she realizes what she's done wrong!"

"But- your grace!" Sansa protested in a nervous voice. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to offend you! And I only mentioned what your mother said, I really didn't mean any harm-"

"And that, Lady Sansa, is why you need to be punished! I can't have you flapping your mouth every time you have a foolish thought!" Joffrey said in a snap. "Here, Dog!" he said joyfully, already feeling in control again and thus better. "Ten strikes will do nicely. Mind her face. Sansa, lift your skirts so that my Hound might hit your legs! I don't wish for him to soil the gown."

The Hound did not budge. Joffrey scowled and impatiently put one hand on his hip. "Dog, don't just stand there. Take the riding crop and beat my lady! _Do it!" _He turned toward Sansa again. "Pull up your skirts! Now!"

Sansa let out a whimper and did as she was told, putting both hands to her dress and lifting it off the pathway. Joffrey grinned as she exposed her smooth, pale legs. He was reminded instantly of her pulling up her nightgown for him, of shoving his hand inside her and then his dick while she shrieked and sobbed into his chest. But the Hound still hesitated, and Joffrey finally thrust the crop at his chest, scowling.

"Do as I say, Dog!" he ordered, stomping the ground. "Are you impaired?"

"No, your grace," the Hound muttered, grasping the crop in his large, gnarled hand. "I'm only wondering whether you'd rather me beat Lady Stark in front of the court. Wouldn't that serve more of a purpose? Shouldn't she be shamed for all to see?" He bowed his head again.

Joffrey considered this idea, tapping his foot and pursing his lips. He remembered how wonderful it had been to see Sansa stripped and slapped around. Perhaps today, Uncle Imp would be absent and he could order Sansa to be completely naked! "Hm," he said aloud, "yes, a splendid idea, Dog." Sansa let out a small cry of protest, her legs shaking. "But, I'd much rather you do it now. She needs her lesson as soon as possible."

The Hound nodded, looking tired. "As you wish, my king. I shall strike on three, Lady Stark-"

"Why in the world would you announce that to her?" demanded Joffrey. "She doesn't need a warning! Do it! Beat her!"

At that, the Hound struck fast, smacking Sansa's leg with the riding crop. It made a soft _thwack! _She squealed at the impact and then let out a small cry.

"Harder, Hound! I want to really hear the riding crop snap!" Joffrey yelled in a jovial tone, rubbing his hands together.

The Hound nodded, but seemed to hesitate _again _as he pulled his arm back to deliver the blow. Joffrey narrowed his eyes, beginning to scrutinize the scene. It seemed that his dog was granting Sansa some sort of pathetic mercy, but _why? _What was the Stark girl to Ser Clegane anyway? The Hound did not like anybody or anything at all, this Joffrey knew. So why was he sparing Sansa? It was no secret the Hound was a rough, violent man who had killed or maimed nearly all of his opponents to Joffrey's great delight. Why couldn't he hit a little girl? _Thwack, _went the riding crop as the Hound snapped it against Sansa's leg again. A thin welt swelled up on her skin, but Joffrey was still unsatisfied.

"Give it to me!" Joffrey demanded sharply. Clegane slowly gave the riding crop back to him. Joffrey snatched it and immediately pulled his arm back as far as he could manage while still keeping a firm, straight grip on the crop. He brought it back down through the air with an intense force and revelled in the forceful crack it made against Sansa's bare leg. She let out a scream. "Oh, now, that's better! That's much, much better!" hooted Joffrey. Another angry red line popped up on her skin. "Yes!" he cheered. "I drew blood! Look, Dog! Look!" He turned around, grinning, to see the Hound glaring down at him. The instant Joffrey saw his face, Clegane's expression became blank. "Is something wrong?" Joffrey asked in a snarl.

"Not a thing, your grace. You are doing well-"

"You were looking at me with an ugly expression," Joffrey said, pouting.

"Pardon me, my king. I cannot help my face," replied the Hound in a bitter mumble and Joffrey gave a short laugh.

"No, I suppose you can't. Very well," he replied, but he knew he'd have to keep a closer eye upon his dog. _He was in my lady's corridor, and now he's acting oddly in her presence. There's something at work here and I don't much like it. I'll be more watchful. __But now, there's a punishment happening. I'll have to think about this matter with my Hound another time. _For the time being, he ignored the Hound's bizarre behavior and struck Sansa again, smiling at her shrieks. By the eighth swing of the riding crop, Sansa's legs had a fair few red marks, and the thin line of blood was slowly dribbling down her leg. "Don't ruin the dress," Joffrey instructed her as he took her arm, feeling the twitch of another hard-on. "And I think you should dine in your own chambers tonight. I want this to be part of your lesson. Don't go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

Sansa had tears rolling down her face as she gingerly took Joffrey's arm. "Yes, your grace," she replied in a low voice. "I'm so sorry."

"How did it feel?" asked Joffrey as they begun to walk back to the castle, the Hound leading. "Me beating you, that is."

"It hurt," said Sansa at once. "It really hurt."

"Good," said Joffrey. He'd taken great pleasure in administering his own beating. It was great fun to watch others torture each other, but the feeling of smacking Sansa with the crop had been truly erotic. He suddenly had a strong urge to shove her into his room and beat her bloody before fucking her senseless. _Not yet, _he told himself, _she's been bad and she needs to realize she cannot speak to you so. You must not be so attached to her! She's obviously still an idiot and she needs to learn her lesson well! Let her wait for you for awhile, let her wonder when you're going to pay her a visit. In time, you can have your way with her. _He smiled that wide smile the entire way to the castle and continued smiling after bidding Sansa goodbye. He threw a glance at the Hound before giving Sansa a soft kiss on the lips. When he turned back to gauge the Hound's reaction, he could have sworn he saw a look of longing in the man's bleary eyes.

_Interesting. Very interesting. _


	9. The Hound, the Bird, and the Lion's Den

Chapter Nine: _The Hound, the Bird, and the Lion's Den_

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_.._

SANSA

..

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"Farewell, Sansa. I hope you think about your actions today," said King Joffrey sweetly after he'd pressed his lips to Sansa's mouth. "I'm going to leave you to return to your chambers. My Hound can see that you are safely escorted back. You shall take your supper in your room tonight, and I will let you know when I wish to see you again." The king's mountain cat eyes glittered with maliciousness, and Sansa felt her stomach turn. King Joffrey gave a dismissive bow, almost like he was mocking her. With that, he turned on his heel and left, the afternoon sun shining in his golden hair.

Sansa wiped her eyes yet again, trying desperately to stop the tears from flowing but her legs stung deeply where the Hound and Joffrey had whipped her with the riding crop. She'd expected the Hound to hit a lot harder, but it did not matter. Joffrey had used all of his strength and she could feel the places on her legs where the thin rivers of blood were flowing. She needed a bath, and she was already anticipating that the cuts and welts would burn in the hot bath water. Not wanting to converse with Ser Clegane, she dropped her head down and continued walking toward the entrance of the castle. Whether he followed her or not, she did not care.

The afternoon had gone from horrifying, to slightly better, to absolutely abysmal. The king's ever changing moods were too hard to keep up with. Being sweet to him irritated him. Admiring him worked, but only so much. Laughing at his jokes worked, but sometimes he seemed like he was joking when he was not, and then it would be the opposite a moment later. Sansa had heard Lord Tyrion call Joffrey witless, but she could see it was much more than that. King Joffrey seemed to be completely mad at times. _Worse than mad._ _Raving insane. _

Kill Hill had left Sansa feeling even more terrified of King Joffrey. _How many creatures has he harmed? _she'd thought as he kissed her and mauled her breasts against the tree. _Is he joking? _she'd thought, and then had tried, desperately, to try and leave her head. To get far away from him again, as she'd done while they sat horseback and he'd demanded her to fondle him. Try as she might, she couldn't get away from him again though once had been a small sign of progress. Again, the worst part was that the things Joffrey was doing to her body did not feel altogether bad. She'd even moaned at the touch of his slightly cool fingers pinching and caressing her nipples, and his mouth felt good on her ear, on her neck. _I will be punished for this, _she thought, feeling the tears begin again. _I can't even imagine what they'd say if they knew, Mother and Robb. Jon. Arya would call me names. And I'd deserve each and every one she hurled at me. _Still, murdereing helpless animals? Had Joffrey been toying with her? She wanted to hope so. If Joffrey was any other boy, perhaps.

_He wasn't. _He was a boy who'd had her father murdered right in front of her and then shown off his rotting head to her like a trophy, he'd called her sister a "cunt" and threatened to "gut" her. He screamed at his own mother and mocked his little brother for fun. She'd seen him ask a minstrel if he'd rather have his tongue or his fingers, and he'd apparently punished a maid who'd done absolutely wrong. Sansa had nearly thrown up when the maid's hands had been chopped off in the court; she'd actually driven the event out of her mind, she'd been so traumatized. She wished she _could _believe her betrothed would leave animals alone. But Sansa was no longer biased when it came to King Joffrey (_"my prince, my sweet prince, what have they done to you?", _it seemed so long ago now, so, so long ago). She was fairly certain that the boy was capable of anything and everything.

"Nothing to say?" wheezed Ser Clegane from behind her. "No chirps today? No songs?"

The tears blurring her vision, Sansa turned around and shot the Hound a hateful look. "I have no idea what you mean," she said primly. "Please, I just want to go back to my chambers-"

"You look at me as if I am the one who put you in harm's way," the Hound said in a dark tone, narrowing his eyes. He lowered his voice, stepping toward the wall in the hallway and beckoning Sansa to come closer.

She set her jaw and shook her head. "I want to go back!" she said, the tears flowing again. _I can't face the Hound. I can't do it! He's just going to make fun of me! I know he is. I'm not his little bird! I'm not!_

"You can be afraid of me," he snarled, "I'm used to it. But you're a damned foolish girl. Do you think I put that riding crop in my own hand? Is that what you saw? Going to lie for your sweet king again, let your dim brain fib to your eyes? It was orders, little bird, and I tried to go easy on you and you didn't even catch on. I would have given you all ten strokes that way, too, if you'd have at least _acted _like it hurt worse! The king may not be quick-witted but he knows pain like Lord Tyrion knows wine- he could see you weren't hurt, that I wasn't trying my hardest to beat you bloody. Who am I to get between you and your beloved King Joffrey? Maybe you _liked _those welts he put on you!"

Sansa stared at the Hound, deciding how to reply. His tone was scathing and made her feel raw, embarrassed. Had he really been trying to save her from pain, or was he just playing with her? She drew a breath. "You were... trying to spare me pain?" she asked quietly. The hallway was deserted, but it seemed someone was always listening and Sansa was never confident she was having a private conversation. She was never alone, not really.

"You're not very sharp, are you?" he asked rudely.

"I'm not used to people trying to help me in this place," Sansa snapped, sniffling. _Stop crying, _she told herself. _Stop!_ She put on what she hoped was a solemn expression. "Why should I believe you? You wanted to put me in front of the court!"

The Hound gave a short, barking laugh, making Sansa's cheeks burn. "And why do you think I suggested that?" he scoffed.

_How should I know? Because you're his dog, _Sansa thought angrily, narrowing her eyes.

"If the King were to have you beaten in front of people, there'd be a far greater chance you'd be _saved," _Ser Clegane said in a sharp tone, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I've never seen him beat anyone himself until today. I'm preparing myself for new horrors. He's likely patting himself on the back right now. He's had a taste of blood," he said in a bitter tone, a grim smile forming on his crooked face. "I can't say I don't know the feeling, but killing is my duty. The king destroys things for fun but I suppose he's grown past kittens and peahens." The Hound laughed again, a dry and cynical sound, his shoulders heaving. His hair moved with his laughter and exposed that burned, sore spot on his face.

Sansa immediately looked away, not wanting to stare. _Kill Hill, _she thought, her heart dropping as she tried to focus, tried to piece the Hound's words together. "You were trying to help me? But why?"

"I woke up in a good mood today. No real reason," retorted the Hound with a roll of his eyes. He stuck a dirty, gnarled finger in her face. "And don't go chirping about this. To anyone. Unless you want your king to punish you again, my wingless little bird-"

"I won't say anything," Sansa said quickly. Why would she? And who would she tell, if anyone? "Thank you, Ser. Thank you very much-"

"For what?" he asked gruffly with a shrug of his muscular shoulders. "I trust you can find your chambers on your own now. Go on. Fly off, little bird. But fly carefully, particularly around your king. It's much easier to get on with him if you do as he says."

_Just do as he says? Ha. That might be easier for you than me, _Sansa thought to herself, cheeks red, _after all, you work for him and you're bigger than him. You're in the Kingsguard and you protect him from danger. This is your home and you've known no other life. Joffrey has taken my family and I'm all I have. He's taken everything from me, even my maidenhead. I'm never going to be free of him, ever, and he can take me whenever he wants. He may even lie with me tonight if he wishes. You have absolutely no idea about what I'm going through. You do not know who I am. I'm not even sure who I am anymore. _

"Thank you again, Ser," Sansa said before ducking her head down and hurrying off toward her chambers, fresh tears rolling down her face.

* * *

_.._

JOFFREY

..

* * *

Flushed and slightly out of breath, King Joffrey strolled into the dining room and flopped into the chair at the head of the table. He cast a smug expression upon his siblings and mother before pouring himself a large goblet of wine. He was simply ravenous after spending the afternoon masturbating frantically. He'd been rock hard after leaving Sansa's company and had touched himself while imagining beating her until she had lines of blood covering her entire body like a patchwork quilt. Although Joffrey had been hoping he could begin to get off while thinking simply of making love to Sansa, it had felt too good. It was too difficult to come unless Joffrey was imagining women bloody and abused. He could try to change his fantasies some other time. He'd collapsed onto his pillows after ejaculating, completely spent, and had awoken just in time for supper in a fantastic mood.

Spearing a generous portion of lamb, Joffrey finally realized how very quiet his family was tonight. It was a bit eerie. Generally, his siblings were obnoxiously chatty and Mother was generous with her insipid opinions. He smirked at Cersei from across the table. "This is a very nice change from usual," he said loudly, "I very much enjoy actually being able to hear myself think!"

"Joffrey, we must discuss a serious matter," Cersei said with a heavy tone, and it was then that Joffrey realized Myrcella had tears running down her face. Tommen's head was bent over his plate and he was half-heartedly sweeping his food from side to side.

"Well, what is it? Be quick," Joffrey said casually through a mouthful of lamb.

Mother cleared her throat, and Joffrey looked at her, raising his eyebrow in annoyance. "It's your sister," she replied and sighed. She reached out and grabbed for Myrcella's hand, and Myrcella burst into a messy bout of sobbing. This was odd; Mother did not usually much care for Myrcella and Joffrey had always guessed that Mother felt the same way about his sister as he did: that she was an empty-headed, boring little brat. But now suddenly Mother was stroking Myrcella's hair.

Joffrey wrinkled his nose in disgust and stared. "What _about _my sister?" he asked before draining his goblet of wine and pouring another.

"Your Uncle Tyrion has seen it fit to ship Princess Myrcella off to Dorne!" Mother said in a gasp, clutching Myrcella harder still. "He's going to have her wed to some nameless prince, some brute not worth my darling babe- your Uncle Tyrion has reached new heights in evil!"

Tommen began to cry, too, and Joffrey rolled his eyes. _What have I done to deserve this? _he thought miserably. "So what?" he questioned, and Cersei raised up her head to stare into his eyes.

"My sweet Joffrey, you must be joking! You'd have your only sister go off to marry a stranger? Surely you cannot mean it! Can you not see why I am in pain?" she questioned, looking a bit disturbed. She continued to pet Myrcella and Joffrey watched with a cold expression, trying to remember the last time Mother cradled _him _in her arms instead of striking him and questioning his judgment.

"I think you are a stupid woman," Joffrey said stalely, and paused to take another bite of lamb. His family watched him wordlessly until he'd finished chewing and swallowed. "And furthermore, I don't see why this disturbs you so much. A woman's purpose is to marry and bear children. Do you not agree, Mother?"

"I agree," Cersei said crisply, wiping Myrcella's tears with a silk napkin. "But she is much too young! I would not wish to send Myrcella, my only daughter, to endure the same fate I had of marrying a complete stranger and-"

"Do you dare disrespect my late Father?" asked Joffrey, settling back in his chair and crossing his arms. "And furthermore, do you mean to suggest you regret your life's path?"

"Joffrey, you know I have nothing but love for you children. You are my life-"

"Ah, good," said Joffrey with a sneer. "Then, you can see how Myrcella will be fufilling her purpose." His eyes flashed as he stared intently at his sister. "Just think," he began with a short laugh, "you'll finally have some worth once you have a baby in you. You'll be doing your duty of pleasing your husband! I ought to be offering you congratulations!" He sniggered.

"_Joffrey," _Mother said tersely as he continued to laugh.

Myrcella met Joffrey's eyes briefly before averting her gaze, her shoulders shaking as she continued to cry. "I don't wish to go, I don't wish to go!" she muttered, tears staining her red face.

_"I don't wish to go," _mocked Joffrey in a high voice before taking another deep drink from his goblet. "Mother, you have told my sister about how it all works, have you not? You've prepared her for what's in store for her? If not, allow me-"

"I've said enough," said Cersei firmly. "Would it hurt you to offer your sister support? A bit of kindness?"

Joffrey ignored her. "Myrcella!" he said, unable to mask a grin. "When your new husband puts his cock inside you, it will likely hurt you greatly! But perhaps after you've gotten stretched out a bit, you'll learn to enjoy it!" He burst into giggles.

Mother was out of her chair in an instant. She stood above Myrcella with her hands clamped over the girl's ears, but Joffrey noticed with great amusement that his sister was crying harder, her face a deep shade of pink. Tommen was gaping at Joffrey with wide eyes. The queen finally pulled her hands from his sister's ears. "Myrcella, Tommen! You may leave to your chambers! Elena!" she snapped, addressing the handmaiden who was hanging dutifully by the wall with a pitcher of wine. "See that the prince and princess return to their chambers!"

"I'm only helping, Mother!" Joffrey called out as his brother and sister rose to their feet. "Myrcella needs to be prepared! After all, you wouldn't want her marriage to end up like yours. Let it be a lesson to you, dear sister," he beamed. "Displease your husband and you'll wind up cast out of the bed while he fucks all the whores he likes."

"NOW!" screamed Mother at the handmaiden, who took both Tommen and Myrcella by the hands and led them out of the dining hall on quick feet. "Joffrey, what in the _Gods _is driving you to say these terrible things?" she shouted, wheeling around and walking toward him with firey question in her green eyes.

Joffrey lazily swung one leg over the other and smirked. "I just don't see why you baby her. She's leaving to Dorne. It doesn't affect me in the slightest. I'll be happy to see her go. I just hope she doesn't cry while her new husband fucks her, we may get her shipped back to us-"

"You speak of things you know nothing about," Mother said, taking a deep breath and lowering her voice. He felt a spark of anger and was about to protest when his mother sighed again. She took a seat beside Joffrey and fixed him with a look of deep question. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "You're still a boy, still young-"

"I know more than you think," said Joffrey with a tight smile, and he was pleased to see the hurt look that appeared on Cersei's face. _Enough, _he told himself, _enough. _

"And what do you know, Joffrey?" Mother sounded skeptical. Skeptical and tired.

Joffrey waved his hand like he was smacking away an irritating fly. "Nevermind that. I'd like to ask you why you're spreading lies to Lady Sansa about me being ill. You know, there are certain things you really shouldn't say to her! She does not deserve to know."

"What did she say to you?" asked Mother sharply. "I only mentioned you needed time alone-"

"_You_ _shouldn't have mentioned anything," _Joffrey hissed, fixing her with a moody glower. "She's going to think I can't handle myself, she was babying me like I was a small child-"

"She's to be your wife and she's a sensitive girl, Joffrey," said Mother quietly. "She likely is only trying to help you. She's a very weak girl, obsessed with fairytales and songs. She's told me she loves you. It's very sweet."

Joffrey felt the twitch of a smile on his face, but immediately tried to cover it. "But you said that love-"

-"Is a poison," finished Mother with a tight sneer. "Yes, and it is true. She'll learn, as the days go by, not to give her heart away so freely."

After being silent for a few moments, Joffrey spoke in a small voice: "What if I _want _her to love me? What if I want her to love and fear me equally? Would that be so bad?"

"I've never known you to be a weak person, Joffrey. Is that why you've been spending more time with her? Are your feelings for her growing too deep? Don't tell me you love Sansa Stark," said Mother, and reached for his hand.

Joffrey pulled back, furrowing his eyebrows. "No," he said immediately. "I'm only asking _what if. _I don't love her. Far from it. I absolutely hate her," he lied effortlessly.

"You don't have to _hate _her," laughed Mother. "Family is all that matters," she continued, and Joffrey nodded because he'd heard her say it constantly. "I love you and your brother and sister with all my heart. Now that Myrcella is leaving, I feel a piece of my heart breaking but I am _so_ happy I have my boys here. And I'll always be here for you, Joffrey. You are my firstborn, my confidant. You are more important to me than anyone in the world. You know that."

"I know, Mother. I know," he agreed, nodding and smiling at her. He reached out and took Mother's hand in his own and she squeezed his fingers lightly.

"I've loved you from the day you were born and I will love you from this day..." Mother began, trailing off and looking to Joffrey expectantly.

"-until my last," Joffrey finished, and she smoothed his hair, smiling at him adoringly. It was something Cersei had told him since before he could even remember, a special thing between them that he'd never heard Cersei utter to his siblings. _She still loves me best, _he thought happily. _And she's right about Sansa. I've got to stay away from her for some time now. Punish her. Make her wait. I don't wish to care for her, I don't want to be filled with that poison, that filthy feeling of neediness. Mother is absolutely right. _When he broke out of his thoughts, his mother was staring at him piercingly, a strange smile on her lips. Again, she brought her hand to his hair and stroked his bangs, smiling that peculiar smile. She leaned toward him slightly, as though preparing to embrace him. "Mother?" Joffrey asked. "What are you doing?"

Cersei seemed to break out of her trance and immediately pulled her hand away. "It's odd," she said in a light tone, pursing her lips and rising to her feet. "You looked so much like your Uncle Jaime just then. He looked just like you when he was your age."

Joffrey shrugged and continued with supper. Sometimes Mother had strange moments. Over the years, he'd learned to simply ignore her when she got like this.


	10. Prayers

A/N: I'm really appreciative of the support I've been getting. I try to reply to all reviews, and so I'd like to say thank you to those who have remained anonymous. I really want to get this story out as quickly as I can so it doesn't leave me. I hope the constant updates are cool and not totally obnoxious. Also, I'm pretty sure my timeline for this story will be a bit weird. I'm trying to keep it as true to the show as possible but it's tough to know how much time has passed at points. Ah, well. Tally ho.

* * *

Chapter Ten: _Prayers_

* * *

..

SANSA

..

* * *

A week went by, and then two weeks passed. Sansa went about her lessons, sewed, and produced drawings but she did not enjoy one moment of it. Everytime she heard a noise, everytime she was alone or lying awake in bed, she was certain it was King Joffrey come to defile her again. He'd promised, hadn't he? He had still banned her from taking her meals with he and his family unless he chose to dine alone, and when that occured, Queen Cersei said absolutely nothing about his intentions. She saw him in court but it was as though she was invisible- King Joffrey would sneer in her general direction and immediately turn his head whenever she mistakenly locked eyes with him. On the very few occasions she'd caught glimpses of him parading about the gardens or halls with the Hound on his heels, Sansa had quickly ducked behind armor or slunk into a corner, praying to go unnoticed.

_"He's ignoring me, Shae," _she told her handmaiden in a confused whisper. _"It's exactly like when I first arrived here, when he was still angry about Nymeria injuring him. I'd try so hard to get his attention and he'd look away! I haven't been asked to dine with him since before we went riding!"_

_"You seem distraught!" _Shae had replied, setting Sansa's supper on the bedside table. _"Isn't this what you want?"_

_"It makes me nervous," _Sansa said, feeling a chill as she uttered the words. _"This way, I never know when to expect him. He could find me at any moment. It's making me sick. He says that he's teaching me a lesson by leaving me be, but I thought I'd see him by now." _

Shae laughed darkly. _"Some lesson this is. Perhaps you can inform him of how much you are learning from being away from him if he speaks to you again-"_

But Sansa did not find it amusing, not in the least. She wondered if the king had grown bored of her as he often did with everything else in his life, and if maybe he would leave her be until they were wed, until she'd be able to bear his children. Sansa knew she could not be optimistic, though. Likely, this was just another game Joffrey was playing. She imagined him laughing alone in his chambers, smug at the obvious fact she was scared out of her wits anticipating him visiting her again.

On the fourth week of being suspiciously ignored, Sansa passed the throne room on her way to the Godswood and stopped in her tracks as soon as she heard the king's loud, piercing voice. Willing herself not to look, she kept staring straight ahead until he heard another voice, a child's voice. Without really thinking, Sansa turned to look. King Joffrey was waving something around while chasing Tommen, who was protesting. Sansa squinted, and finally realized with some terror that the object in Joffrey's hands was a scepter, a scepter with gnarled antlers at the end of it. He was holding it high above his head and swinging it to and fro.

"Joff! Please! Don't!" squealed Tommen.

"You stupid little pig!" Joffrey replied. "Don't tell Mother lies about me! If I hear you've been talking about me again, I'll skin you alive and make a coat out of you. Just like I did with your precious fawn!"

"No! I didn't lie!" Tommen protested and burst into tears, seeming to run out of breath. He fell to his knees and cowered on the floor. Sansa looked around wildly, but it seemed no one was there. _Where is the Hound? The rest of the Kingsguard? They cannot be far! They wouldn't really let Joffrey hurt his own brother, would they? _She remembered what Tommen had said: _When Joffy gets you alone, the bad things happened. _Unable to move her eyes, Sansa paled.

"What did you say, then?" Joffrey demanded, his treacherous playful tone dissolving into a hateful snap. He stood above his brother, wielding the scepter above his head like a battle axe. "WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT ME TO MOTHER, YOU LITTLE SHIT?" His cruel voice echoed off the high ceiling and walls, contrasting deeply with the way his crown glittered on his pretty blond head like a halo.

"Nothing!" Tommen wailed, and Joffrey brought the scepter down on his brother's shoulder. _Whack! _Tommen let out a shriek. Sansa's eyes welled up with tears. She felt frozen to the floor. _Poor, poor sweet prince Tommen! _she thought desperately, _though I am quite relieved it is not me. _At this uncensored, evil thought, Sansa bit her own lip hard, feeling terrible and embarrassed. _I really need to pray! That's terrible thing to think. Am I losing my mind? Tommen is a child, how dare I think something like- _But Joffrey's voice cut through her thoughts.

"She told me to behave myself around you and Myrcella! DOES THAT SOUND LIKE NOTHING TO YOU?" _Whack, _went the scepter again.

Tommen cried loudly, his fists balled and head hung down. "Joffy, I didn't, I didn't-"

"It's against the realm to lie to a king!" Joffrey bellowed. "It's _TREASON!"_

"I hardly said a thing, Joffy, I swear! I told her about the fire, I was scared and I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

_The fire? _thought Sansa nervously. _Gods, what's Joffrey done now?_

_"_Well," said Joffrey with a thin smile, "that doesn't sound like nothing. Does it?" He pulled back his hand again and Sansa drew a breath, clenching her hands at her sides.

"NO!" she screamed, and the echo of her own voice down the hall of the throne room put a turn in her stomach.

At the sound of her shout, King Joffrey dropped the scepter onto the ground with a _crack. _Tommen leapt up and ran out of the throne room, brushing past Sansa as he went. "No?" asked Joffrey loudly, turning toward the entrance and fixing Sansa with a wide-eyed stare that sent shivers throughout her entire body. "DID. YOU. SAY. NO?" he screamed, and Sansa realized right then how poor a decision this had been. King Joffrey was in one of his completely rageful moods, _raving insanity,_ one of those moods where he ordered people to be hanged or chopped to bits and pieces. There would be no getting out of this unless she thought fast and even then the odds were not in her favor.

"It's just- he's a little boy, Joffrey, I mean, your grace! Surely you wouldn't have a little boy as your opponent. You'd be much better matched with a man your own size!" Sansa said quickly, her voice coming out in a cracked squeak. _He's going to wring your neck with his own hands. _

"Come here," Joffrey commanded, waving her forward. "Approach your king!"

Sansa ducked her head down, going red in the face as she walked forward. She wondered where Joffrey's men were, and whether Joffrey would dare try something in the open. _He just nearly beat Tommen! He will do the same to me. Worse, if the Hound is right! He said Joffrey has tasted blood now. But I think Joffrey has had a taste for blood since long ago. I should have kept my mouth shut, I could have gotten help, stayed hidden! _

"What gives you the right to speak to me so?" asked Joffrey, eyes flashing. His mouth turned down in an intense frown. "It's improper to shout at a king, particularly to tell him _No._"

"I have no right to speak to you like that, or at all, your grace," Sansa whispered, her entire body shaking.

"That is right," said Joffrey plainly, flexing his fingers. He gave her a look-over and glared deeper. "Your words are sweet and full of respect yet you still dishonor me. I told you I did not wish to look at you. Didn't I? I told you it was part of your lesson and that _I'd _come to you if I so pleased. Did I not?"

Sansa swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat as though she had swallowed a fruit pit. "You did, your grace," she managed to say, feeling her legs quaking as the king strode toward her, gliding as if he were a snake preparing to strike her. "It's just- I hate to see squabbling. It reminds me of my little siblings, they were always arguing. Don't you think your mother could have settled it? I'm sure Tommen didn't mean offense- he's such a good boy-"

"Oh, yes, he's a _good _boy," said Joffrey with a roll of his eyes, "a good, boring, foolish boy. My mother thinks he is as asinine as I do. And I'd like to keep it that way. My mother also does not need to know everything that happens in this castle. I'd think you would understand that." A tight little sneer formed on Joffrey's smooth face and Sansa felt herself blushing hot.

"Your grace, I meant no harm against you-you obviously can do what you wish," she said quickly, her eyes flicking from side to side. There was nowhere to run or hide, nothing but wide, open space. "Whatever you wish."

Joffrey stepped closer to her. He was close enough that she smelled him, that clean-clothes, honeyed, musky scent. It rocked her stomach as he took another stepped and placed a hand on her waist. His jade eyes narrowed into slits, the pouty, thin mouth curved into a mocking smile. When he spoke, she could smell the faint hint of sweet wine on him and she shuddered as he moved his mouth into her ear, licking her earlobe in a flicking motion. "And we know what would happen if everyone knew what you did," the king said in a hot whisper, running his hand from her waist to her behind. Sansa stayed rooted to the spot, her eyes shutting tight as she tried to think of something to do, some way to escape. "Don't we?" he rasped, kissing her ear lightly.

"_Yes,_" Sansa whispered, her eyes screwed shut. She tried to focus on the patterns behind her eyelids: those stars and bright colors, she wanted to be where they were, _some place far away, shrouded in darkness, surrounded by swirls, somewhere away from Joffrey and the queen and maybe Arya would be there, alive, and Mother, and Robb and Bran and Rickon and the others, and they'd try to be happy again, forget all this business, and they'd forgive Sansa for her foolishness, for her betrayal of the family, they'd take her back, and they'd never let him have her again. _

"Because if they did," Joffrey was saying, "you'd be as worthless as those whores I played with after my Name Day and no one will ever, ever want you." His voice took on a high-pitched, lazy tone of joviality. "You certainly won't marry. You'd only be fit for a brothel, or else I'd keep you here for my own amusement for as long as I wish. It's lucky for you I still let you live here now, that I still wish to marry you. Don't you see how fortunate you are?"

"_Yes,"_ Sansa muttered, nodding, as Joffrey once again put his mouth to her ear and kissed her there. She moaned, squirming in his grasp. She felt a pulsing feeling between her legs and her stomach did a somersault. _No, no, no, please , no-_

"You _like _that," Joffrey said with a scornful laugh and pinched her thigh. "_Say you like it," _he muttered, that kind, clear, tone tricking her brain. _But I know what you are. I know you. _"Say it!" he hissed, pinching her harder.

"No," snapped Sansa, ignoring the wobbling of her thighs, and her eyes flashed open as soon as she realized her hideous mistake.

Joffrey moved fast, gripping her hard by the wrists and pulling her close, his teeth gritted and his eyes angry. "You _filthy little_ cunt," he hissed, "I should have you beaten. Better yet, I'll do it myself!" His voice was suddenly high and enthusiastic, like he'd gotten a new toy. He turned, obviously trying to calculate how to get his scepter. A smile flickered on his face again. "Fetch it," he said, gesturing, "fetch my scepter and bring it to me-"

"Please, please," Sansa begged, her voice warbling. She shut her eyes again, trying to say a silent prayer.

"FETCH IT," hollered Joffrey, but then suddenly, he shoved her off of him. Sansa stumbled to the floor, eyes opening at once as she caught herself with her hands.

"What's the meaning of this?"

Sansa breathed a sigh at the sound of Lord Tyrion's voice. _He can't have seen much, and Joffrey wouldn't dare continue in front of him! Thank you, thank you, thank you for listening!_

"Nothing," Joffrey whined and Sansa looked up in time to see him stomping his foot. She wished she could roll her own eyes at him, slap him hard across the face; even Bran didn't act this way and he was much younger than Joffrey! "I told her it was improper, that we're not to be married yet and so I pushed her off me-"

"Ah, how pious of you, my dear nephew, " the little lord said, his articulate voice ringing out across the room. He paused. "Although, your logic is somewhat flawed. As her betrothed, could you pleased be kind enough to help Lady Sansa back up off the floor?"

"I'm fine," Sansa said quietly, running her fingers through her hair and smoothing her gown before rising to her feet. Lord Tyrion was looking up at the both of them with an obviously skeptical expression. Sansa felt her face growing hot and she averted her gaze.

"Why are _you _here?" Joffrey demanded.

"I heard your very explosive voice from the opposite side of King's Landing. It is quite impressive. You really are quite talented in the area of shouting! No doubt a trait you picked up from my beloved sister, she used to positively make my ears ring, it was splendid-"

"Did my brother tattle? Did he go get you?" snarled Joffrey.

Lord Tyrion gave a small sigh. "If I say yes, are you going to feed him to a hungry bear?"

Joffrey let out an angry howl, sounding much like a wild animal himself. "EVERYONE ALWAYS TATTLES ON ME! I DID NOTHING WRONG! HE WAS A LIAR! WHY DOES EVERYONE WISH TO RUIN MY LIFE?" he roared.

"One of the world's great mysteries, I suppose," Tyrion said good-naturedly. "I suppose you have kingly duties to attend to, and I must escort Sansa back to her chambers. Come, Sansa," he said, gesturing.

"Don't try to speak to me until I call for you! Don't even _look _at me!" King Joffrey called out as she hurried off after the little lord. "Remember what I told you!"

_I'll never forget. How could I? I'm yours, you ruined me, and I'm dead if you get bored. Which will likely be soon, as I've made you furious today. _Sansa set her jaw and tried to refrain from reacting, deciding she was much too lucky. First, the Hound had attempted to rescue her and now Tyrion had saved her from another beating at the king's hands. The Gods had answered her prayers for now, but at what price? She was going to use up all her chances and then she'd be left with absolutely nothing.

"Whatever it is he told you, do not pay attention to it. I can tell you, without any further knowledge, that it was nothing of value. I said it once and I will say it again. You do _not _need to succumb to his wrath. Call for help next time. I will always take the heat for you. I am not the favorite uncle, but I do discipline that boy more than anyone else around this place," Tyrion said firmly, stopping Sansa in the hallway and touching his hand to her arm.

She cringed at his touch, not wanting it, not wanting anyone's hands on her. "I'm sorry, my lord-"

"Oh, in the seven hell's!" Tyrion barked, sounding exasperated as he smacked his own forehead. "I'm not asking for an apology! It isn't your fault. You're a child and you don't deserve this mistreatment-"

"King Joffrey is my beloved and-"

Tyrion sighed, and held up his hand. "You are smart, Lady Sansa. But my heart does rather ache for you. That is all I shall say." He gave her a bow and let her depart to her corridor.

Sansa ran the entire way to her chambers. When she'd shut her door and secured it, she flopped onto her bed, kicking off her shoes, feeling disgusting shame shoot through her body. She tried to close her eyes but the swirls could not distract her. She tried to lose herself by staring at the canopy above her, focusing on the crimson flowered pattern, but that also did not work. Nothing she could think of could make her forget the physical response King Joffrey had given her; it was a feeling she'd experienced a bit before, a few times on her own and once or twice in the company of others. This had been stronger than ever. _Why? _she thought, trying to rationalize. _Am I sick? I need to pray, I need someone to take me to the Godswood to pray, right now, but I cannot leave, I don't wish to leave my room again, but I need to get away from here, I need to get back to Winterfell, or Shae, Shae might know how to help me... _

But all of the rationality in the world couldn't take her mind off of the slight throbbing coming from the gap between her legs, from _that _place. Sansa could not hold back and instead of thinking screaming, pleading thoughts, she lost all resistance and very slowly began to rub her legs together. She wanted to reason with herself, to scream at herself to stop, but it was as if sparks were going off down inside her core. It felt too good. Her rubbing began to get frantic; there was a warm, slick feeling between her legs and when she tentatively worked her hand under her gown and pressed a finger inside herself, she was astonished to find that she was very wet there. Unsure of what this meant, Sansa put it out of her mind and slowly began to touch herself.

_You like that, _said Joffrey's voice inside her head, ringing in her ears. She thought about his hot breath in her ear and his hand snaking around her waist, fingers stroking and then pinching. _Say you like it._

Sansa let out a strangled scream before pulling her hand out of her skirts and dissolving into tears. She did not eat supper. She did not speak. She only prayed for forgiveness, and hoped she still had a few more chances left.

...

"Lady Sansa, it is time to rise! Lady Sansa! I've brought breakfast, and the queen requests you are dressed for formality! Lady Sansa!"

Blearily, Sansa tried to drown out Shae's voice by grabbing a pillow and putting it over her head. She'd slept poorly, all night waking up and remembering the disgusting thoughts she'd had yesterday. The way she'd touched herself and thought of him. Even now, her face burned.

"I don't want to!" she snapped, fully aware of how petulant and idiotic she sounded.

"Lady Sansa, you must! Princess Myrcella is leaving today! She's being shipped to Dorne and you must go with the royal family to the docks! These are orders! Now hurry! We must make you look presentable. You cannot see the princess off with a pillow over your head-"

"Why is the princess leaving? Why must I go? Do I really have to?" Sansa asked, finally throwing the pillow down and averting her eyes from Shae, convinced her handmaiden would see the dirty thoughts she'd had in her eyes.

Shae gave a quiet laugh and began to take out dresses. "So many questions," she said, "all I've been told is there are orders for you to be there. I assume it is because you will be part of the family soon? Anyway, they are all leaving to the docks in an hour's time! You must rise-" Shae grabbed the blankets and tugged.

"But King Joffrey told me yesterday he doesn't want to look at me," Sansa protested, pulling the blankets back. "I'm afraid, Shae- I don't want to disrespect him." _Or see him ever! I can't look upon his face without thinking of what I've done! _

"You must go," Shae urged in a firm tone. "You have orders to be there. You are fond of the little princess. Go see her off, Sansa. She will be happy to see you."

With a sigh, Sansa agreed that she would like to see Myrcella off, but she had a sense of dread as she got ready for the day.

Sansa walked to the docks behind the queen, Joffrey and the prince and princess, surrounded by the Kingsguard. The Hound glowered at her and she kept her eyes forward, breathing deeply and hoping with all of her heart that she could avoid Joffrey. Princess Myrcella was crying quietly and Sansa gave her a tight hug and wished her well as soon as they reached the water. She positioned herself between the Hound and Ser Boros, trying to stare ahead, not wanting to look at the king, terrified she'd get that feeling between her legs again. She hated him even more now, if that was possible. As soon as she found herself completely focused on Myrcella's departure, Joffrey's cold, sneering tone broke the silence:

"Sansa. Come here," he commanded, and with great reluctance, she did just as she was told. She stood close enough to Joffrey to hear him, but stared straight ahead at the water. "Just so you know, I had absolutely nothing to do with having you here this morning. I told Mother I wanted you to stay behind, but she was convinced you should be here. I'm still angry with you," he finished curtly.

"Yes, your grace," Sansa said in a hushed tone, bowing her head. She wasn't certain what to say or what to feel but it seemed Joffrey was pleased with standing in silence today. _Thank goodness. _She wondered if he even cared that his only sister was being sent off, but when he made a disparaging remark about Prince Tommen crying she figured she should have known he wouldn't have any sort of feeling about it. She didn't even regret saying aloud that she'd seen _him _cry once, although she lied very quickly when Joffrey asked what she'd said. The air was thick and tense, and when it was finally time to return to the castle Sansa was relieved. As Sansa joined the group of ladies from the court and walked behind King Joffrey, a crowd of peasants began to shout at them. At first, it seemed cordial enough but then the mood grew sour. The voices grew from a dull roar to a crescendo, and suddenly Sansa felt very, very terrified. . .

* * *

To Be Continued


	11. Hint of Blood

A/N: This chapter follows Joffrey's thoughts during Season Two/ Episode Six ( Ep. 16-"The Old Gods and the New"), which is one of my favorite Joffrey episodes. He's so hateful, so disturbed, and so it was very interesting to write his thoughts during all of the chaos. A few of the lines are pulled directly from the episode.

Hope you keep enjoying. Shit's about to get real creepy.

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Hint of Blood

* * *

. .

JOFFREY

. .

"Seven blessings on you, your grace!"

Joffrey hurried through the dirty street, following the Hound as closely as he could. The city had a rotting, awful stench, no doubt due to the unwashed masses of peasants who had gathered near the docks hoping for a glimpse of the royal family._ They're paying their respects to me, _he thought, plastering on a benign expression as he surveyed the crowd, ignoring his inborn reaction to cringe. _Obviously, seeing the king brings hope to the people. They want to bask in my glory, if only for a bit_. _I don't much like parading about the streets so they'd better get a look at me while they can. Seeing their pathetic faces sets me into a bad mood. It is far too depressing out here, and it smells worse than anything! _He looked down just in time to avoid a muddy puddle of water, and glanced back at Mother and Tommen. Thankfully, Mother no longer looked miserable and instead looked beautiful and stoic, as usual. Tommen and Mother had been whimpering since the first light of day. Joffrey expected that sort of pathetic behavior from his little brother but seeing Mother with tears on her face was a bit jolting. She'd told him, long and often, how ridiculous it was to display emotion.

He still did not understand why Cersei was suddenly so invested in Myrcella. It made no sense! Myrcella was only doing what women were supposed to do. Joffrey had felt nothing but boredom as he'd watched his younger sister being helped into the little boat and he'd smirked at the tears that were streaked across her pale cheeks as she'd been floated out into the dark water. Joffrey had run out of uses for her long ago and so he did not care about Myrcella's fate. On the contrary he felt worse for her husband-to-be. Her blossoming body left much to be desired and Joffrey was unsure she'd ever develop into something truly noteworthy. _Not like Sansa, _he found himself thinking, _not like the softness of her curves and her deep eyes mixed with her red, red hair. _

Despite his rage at Sansa's recent behavior, Joffrey could not stop imagining them alone again. They'd been so close on their excursion to Kill Hill but she'd ruined it, and he still felt fury at her for her actions against him yesterday afternoon. He wanted Sansa to leave him be, but he found his thoughts trailing back to her. Often. He had not been able to restrain himself yesterday and as he'd touched her hips and kissed her ear, he'd felt his heart pounding in his chest, his groin hardening and pulling up like a loaded arrow ready to be launched at a target. He'd done well to ignore her thus far today, but now he looked back at her before he could restrain himself. Sansa's hair was set up in a Southern style and her dress accentuated her breasts and waist. Joffrey quickly looked away before she could catch him gaping at her. _Stop looking at her. Think of something else. Perhaps I can organize a hunting trip—that might brighten my spirits. It would do me good to get out of King's Landing, to have relief from my stress. It's no surprise I cannot stop thinking of the stupid Stark girl. There's nothing better to do around here. Apparently it's improper to go out and have a bit of fun when there's a war on, at least that's what Uncle Tyrion said. But I don't care what he thinks! Honestly, the only good he's done for me is get rid of Myrcella! _

"Long live King Joffrey!" shouted a voice from above.

"We're hungry!" cried out another.

Joffrey set his jaw, willing himself not to scowl at the noisemakers. If they were as hungry as they said, why not find employment or take up hunting? Why not become decent human beings instead of impoverished, flea-bitten nitwits? The voices began to rise in volume like a menacing choir.

"He's a bastard!"

Jade gaze flicking upward, Joffrey felt rage surge through him, white and hot. _Are they talking about me? I'll have them all hanged until their eyes pop out of their skulls if they are! Mother would tell me if the rumors are true. People only say such things to cause trouble! _Joffrey broke out of his wandering thoughts when the Hound paused in front of him, hand on his belt.

"Get the prince back to the keep!" cried out Uncle Tyrion, and Joffrey strained to see what was going on, why his uncle had cause for alarm. These were only beggars, only sad, crusty people with nothing better to do then—

All of a sudden, something was thrown out from the crowd and smacked Joffrey in the face. The impact was a surprise but the smell hit him hard and fast. A dreadful, thick mass of excrement had got him directly in the forehead and was dropping like old, rotted pudding off his temple. His face stung with humiliation while laughter and shrieks rang out at once. At once, Joffrey felt his gag reflex set in and he let out a guttural yowl as the Hound drew his sword: "Who threw that? I demand to know who threw that!"Joffrey screamed, "Find the man who threw that AND BRING HIM TO ME!" His eyes flashed at the crowd; he hated all of them, he wanted them all dead. _How dare they! How DARE they! Did Sansa see? Who witnessed it? _He wanted the dung off but he wouldn't dare touch it. He equally couldn't stand feeling it falling in meaty globs down his face, making its way toward his eye. The disgusting, ripe smell curled into his nostrils as bile rose throughout his throat.

Joffrey threw a glance backward where Sansa was sidestepping to avoid a group of men, jostling and clawing at each other, at anyone they could get their filthy hands on. _She saw! She had to have seen! I'll have her flogged raw if she mentions it! _He continued to squall as the Hound gripped him by the shoulder and swung him effortlessly under one arm, fighting through the crowd. "KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!" Joffrey heard himself wailing, not really even aware of his mouth forming the words. Faces swirled and voices rang out, all mixing together. It was a blur after that as they tried to get back to the castle, the Hound's sword clinging and squishing into anyone who dared step in their way.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I WANT THESE PEOPLE EXECUTED!" Joffrey declared loudly as the Hound gripped him to his side.

"And they want the same for you!" The Hound barked at Joffrey fiercely. Joffrey wanted to spit at the Dog for taking such a tone with him. _He shouldn't address me as such, _he thought wildly as the crowd screamed, _I'm your grace or your highness! _

What little gaps were left in the pathway seemed to close around them. The high septon, who had been leading the group of them, was snatched into the raging mob. Joffrey heard a sickening sound and shouting. He looked blearily to the right just in time to see the septon's arm being torn off and flapped in the air like a victory flag at battle. It would have been a magnificent sight if it weren't for the fact that Joffrey was right in the middle of the chaos. _Don't let them get me! _he thought, panicked, clutching hard to his Dog. _Don't you dare let them get to me or I'll have you skinned and mounted on my wall! _

Soon, Joffrey was safely back to the keep but all was far from well. He was red-faced and humiliated, still painfully aware of the dung streaking his face. He'd yelled that he wanted all of the peasants to be killed and Tyrion had defied him, told him the problem was his fault. To top it off, Tyrion had slapped him and Joffrey wanted nothing more than to wring the imp's neck, to see the color drain from his evil, little face.

"Where is the Stark girl?" called out Uncle Tyrion, and Joffrey whipped around.

"Let them have her!" he snarled feverishly, shaking his finger at his uncle. Sansa would _laugh _at him! He _knew _it! She'd seen him fall before her sister; she'd witnessed him being bested. She'd seen him ridiculed by his father. She'd heard from Mother that he'd had a fit, and though he did not know exactly what Sansa had heard, he still hated that she'd heard he had flaws. And now, she'd likely seen him get shit tossed in his face like a total fool. She wasn't going to take him seriously now. Ever. He decided an angry crowd might as well kill her if it meant she'd never get the chance to shame him for what she had seen. _Let them do what they want to her! She's nothing to me! Just like Mother said, love is a poison and Sansa Stark can be ripped to pieces and thrown in the river for all I care. She better not have seen! If she doesn't die, I'll punish her myself! She'll hope she's dead! _Tears stung in his eyes. The only positive thing was that the smell of the defecation on his face was so strong that by now, he almost did not notice it.

"Someone must find Lady Sansa!" the imp declared, looking at Ser Boros in disdain.

"I take my orders from the king!" Ser Meryn said gruffly, and Joffrey was satisfied that at least someone had the decency to respect him. Tyrion looked back to Joffrey with an expectant look on his face and Joffrey grimaced deeply before stomping out of the room.

"Doesn't anyone see?" he demanded, pumping his fist in the air and glaring at the frightened faces of his courtiers and guards. "I must be attended to!"

Uncle Tyrion followed him, yelling after him. "Your betrothed is lost in a raving group of angry people and you're crying about a tiny bit of cow shit on your face? You should be out there looking for her _yourself_!"

"I'M THE KING! AND I HATE SANSA STARK! LET THEM RIP HER TO SHREDS!" Joffrey bawled. The more he said he did not care for her, the more he liked the taste of the words on his tongue and the horrified look on Uncle Imp's face.

"She is to _marry _you! Is this how you treat your future wife?"

"I CAN'T BE OUT THERE ALONE! I'M THE KING! I'M THE KING!"

"Are you the king?" Tyrion questioned sarcastically. "Really? I hadn't heard!"

"Are you _questioning _me?" Joffrey demanded, clenching his teeth. "I SHOULD HAVE YOUR THROAT RIPPED OUT—"

Mother ran in, shoving maids aside, her dress cascading out behind her. "You're safe, my love!" she cooed, rushing to Joffrey's side. "I'm relieved, I was so worried—I was—" She stepped back and wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell?"

"It was _horrible, _Mother!"

"Joffrey, what _happened? _What have they done to you?"

"Your son is overreacting, as usual. One of the mobbing peasants threw a cow pie at him and it's almost like he's been disfigured," said Tyrion, rolling his eyes. "In my opinion, this look suits his personality quite well—"

Joffrey let out an enraged scream. _"Mother! _Do something!_"_

"Why has no one helped him get it off?" Cersei snarled, glaring about the room. "You'll all sit here and let my poor boy suffer? What if he catches some disease? Draw him a bath at once! WHO WILL DRAW HIM A BATH?"

"Not I," scoffed Tyrion.

There was a silence and Mother grasped Joffrey by his arm, flaxen eyebrows flexing dangerously over her emerald eyes. "DRAW THE KING A BATH!" No less than three handmaidens ran from the room, heads bowed. "Let us get you clean. I'm so sorry you've had such a terrible day," Mother said smoothly. "It's over now. It can only get better."

Joffrey looked to her and gave a slight smile, and for the moment he believed her encouraging words.

. . .

He finally felt calm after lowering himself into the hot bathwater and stretching back to let the wash of warmth cover his body. One of the handmaidens had procured a wet towel for him and was in the process of wiping the feces from Joffrey's face and hair when Mother had knocked, demanding to be the one to attend to her son. It seemed ages since they'd spent much time together and Joffrey was happy for Mother's company, as she was being supportive and not a piteous wench (for the moment, at least). She'd lovingly mopped his face and had prepared a basin of water for him to duck his head into, rubbing his back and neck all the while. She'd suggested he still take a bath to further soap off his face and body, but also to relax. So far, it was working well to soothe his mood but there was still much on his mind.

"They sounded like they hated me, Mother," Joffrey said after much thought, his voice slow and cautious. It was not a question because he really did not wish to know the answer.

Mother looked up from the floor where she'd been averting her gaze. She was sitting with her legs crossed on a chair by the side of his bath, sliding a hand up and down the silky length of her gown almost nervously. Joffrey studied her: the way her golden hair glinted in the soft candlelight, her delicate hands pressed in her lap and then raising up to brush curls from her face. She sighed, cutting the silence. "No one hates you, sweet boy," she said finally.

"Uncle Tyrion says it's because I started the war! But I didn't start a war, I ended a traitor's life and it isn't my fault the Starks can't handle themselves—"

"Didn't we agree we'd no longer discuss this subject?" asked Mother in a soft tone. He threw her a sideways glance as he began to sop up his cloth with soap and scrub his ears. Her facial expression was slightly vacant, but there was a gentle smile on her face. "Tyrion has set out to make others feel guilty since he was a boy. He has always tried to point out my wrongs. I suppose it's because he feels inadequate. He thinks he must bring others down to feel tall."

"I suppose," Joffrey said off-handedly. "But those people, Mother. They really sounded angry with us. They don't know us! I thought that being king meant everyone would love me."

Cersei turned again to look at him, casting him a somewhat sad smile. "You do not need everyone's love, Joffrey. I want you to know that with all of your soul. You know how much I care for you, and that should be enough. Should it not?"

Joffrey shrugged, rinsing his ears and face and bringing up one slender leg for washing. He flexed his toes and swirled the soap over his foot, trying not to think of Sansa. "I know you care for me. But I'm their king, Mother. It's their _duty_ to love me."

"If they do not love you, they do not see what I see," said Mother, adjusting the golden pendant that rested in the center of her cleavage. She noticed Joffrey watching her and smiled at him again. "Be certain to wash thoroughly. I cannot believe they'd do something as hideous as that to my poor boy—"

"Tyrion says it was only a cow pie, that I shouldn't have reacted so—"

"They could have seriously harmed you," Mother put in quickly. "You had every right to react the way you did. You did nothing wrong. You are a strong, brave king and you did not deserve that. Not one bit."

He nodded, deciding she was right. They were silent for a few more minutes. The only sound was the sloshing of the water. It lazily slapped against the tub as he changed position.

"Do you know if they found Sansa?" Joffrey asked without really thinking. He bent down, pretending to be invested in washing himself there. "Not that I care one way or another—"

Mother turned her head. "Yes, Tyrion mentioned you were in quite a frenzy about the business with the Stark girl—"

"Not a _frenzy, _Mother! I simply told my uncle that the crowd could have her if they wanted her!"

"As I hear it," Mother said lightly, "the crowd very well _did _almost have her. Would that really have pleased you, sweet boy?"

Joffrey swiveled around, completely focused on her now. "What do you mean? Did they maim her?" _If they did anything to her beautiful face, I won't be able to look at her. And then what will I do? I can't marry an ugly woman. Maybe if she's hideous, I'll tell Mother she's also not a maiden and then Mother can fix the situation for me—_

"She was bleeding but it wasn't anything serious—"

"Bleeding where? Was she cut? Stabbed?" Joffrey asked, his voice rising with a hint of excitement as his stomach dropped.

Mother gave him a confused look. "She's doing fine, Joffrey. She's likely just scared. A little dove from the North with no idea how life really is—"

"I want my clothes brought to me, and I want Sansa to see me in my chambers," Joffrey said, sitting up and rinsing off. "Quickly. Bring my towel, Mother."

"Don't you think she should rest, Joffrey? We have all been through so much today—"

"I want to see Sansa in an hour's time," said Joffrey flatly. "I want to see what happened to her. Clothes and towel. Now. Fetch a servant or do it yourself. I don't care."

Mother stood up and her face twitched, a small frown forming on her shapely lips. "I don't see why you need to speak with her. I was enjoying our time alone—"

"Because she's mine, Mother, and I need to see if she's been damaged!" Joffrey snapped. The truth was, he wasn't quite sure what was driving him to see Sansa either. But like many of Joffrey's desires, he knew it would not be sated unless it was quenched.

. . .

A sharp knock sounded at Joffrey's bedroom door. "Lady Stark for you, your grace!" came the Hound's growl of a voice. Joffrey peeled his eyes away from his full-length mirror where he'd been admiring himself in his new black velvet tunic. His heart began to pound and he wished it would return to normal. _I'm not inviting Sansa in because I care for her, _he told himself, _I want to hear what transpired today and whether she looks hideous. Better now than later, and besides, I can let her know if she repeats what she saw happen to me I'll track down her brother and cut off his head myself!_

"Come in," Joffrey said, posing against the vanity as the Hound thrust open the door for Sansa. Joffrey noticed her first, his mouth going dry. She was wearing a simple dressing gown with a fur cloak tied around her shoulders. Her hair was down in curls around her face in the manner he liked. _Her face looks unharmed, _he thought, _that is a relief. _

"I'll be outside the door," muttered the Hound. He looked to Sansa. "When the king sees it fit, you can come to me and I will escort you back—"

"Why would you linger around my doorway, Dog?" Joffrey asked with a snort. "You never do that."

Clegane and Sansa exchanged a very brief glance. "I thought it would save trouble, your grace," the man said. "Forgive me if I guessed wrong—"

"You can come back to collect her when I call for you, Dog. Like always," Joffrey said icily, and stepped forward, surveying the Hound's ugly, cracked face. Tonight, the Hound did not stare back. He turned away and stared instead at the floor. "Something wrong?" Joffrey challenged.

"Nothing at all, your grace. Just call for me when you are ready," the Hound mumbled, giving a bow of his head.

"I will," Joffrey said shortly. "I don't need your permission to do as I please. Leave now. I can't stand to look upon you any longer. Sansa, you may now approach me." Before he could say another word, the Hound bowed his head again and exited as Sansa stepped forward. Joffrey noticed with some gladness that she looked nervous. _Good. At least seeing me like that didn't take away her fear. _"Closer," he said in a sweet voice, eyes hungrily examining her for whatever wounds lay beneath her clothing. "Please have a seat on the chaise. Be comfortable."

"Your grace," whispered Sansa, and gave a curtsy. She seemed to be surveying Joffrey's chambers, a look of wonder in her wide eyes. He figured she'd never seen a room quite as grand. She crossed the room and sunk down onto the lounge.

Joffrey followed her and stood directly in front of her, crossing his arms. "My mother says you were harmed today but I don't see any wounds. Show me."

"I was bleeding badly, your grace. By now, it has been cleaned and dried," she murmured, her voice wavering badly. "It was—it was horrible—"

"I don't care how it was!" Joffrey said. "Show me, I said!"

Sansa shuddered and at a snail's pace she began to remove the cloak from her shoulders, Tully hair tumbling in front of her eyes as she looked downward. Irritated, Joffrey strode forward and wrenched the furs from around her, casting them to the floor. She whimpered, cowering.

"Where were you bleeding?" he demanded impatiently.

"Here, on my shoulder—"

Joffrey pulled up her sleeve where she'd gestured and gazed open-mouthed at a blood-stained bandage twisted around Sansa's upper arm. "How big is the cut?" he whispered, leaning into her and running a finger carefully around the length of the cloth.

"They said it was sizable—it hurt terribly. I was lucky to get out alive—"

"_You _were lucky to get out alive? I was attacked," Joffrey argued, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, don't be so childish. My mother says I could have been really hurt and you don't hear me going on and on."

"Yes, your grace," Sansa said, nodding her head several times. Joffrey dropped down beside her on the chaise and crossed one leg over the other. Sansa looked up and met his eyes as she spoke: "I'm sorry you were treated like that. With all my heart, I'm sorry."

Joffrey stared at her face, trying to interpret her tone. He decided she was being sincere. "_Well_," he said flamboyantly, "I could have handled it myself if only I had my sword. How did you get out of there anyway? I could have gone out and found you, but I was attending to other matters—"

"You did not hear?" Sansa asked and Joffrey frowned.

"Why would I ask you if I'd heard already?" he demanded. "What would the point be?"

"That was stupid of me," Sansa replied. "I apologize, your grace. Ser Clegane came for me. I was—I was being accosted by a group of men. I couldn't count them. There were three, or four, I'm not sure. I was so scared, your grace—"

"My dog went out for you?" Joffrey asked. "I didn't ask him to! Why would he do that?" _Interesting indeed. What is the Hound's problem as of late? It would seem he has some pathetic fondness for Sansa, but that's too ridiculous for my dog. He agrees with me on the subject of women. They aren't worth worrying about. _

Sansa wrung her hands in her lap and fixed Joffrey with a wide-eyed look. "I—I don't know? I don't think he knew where I was off to, he was simply fighting through the crowd. It was lucky he found me! I owe him my life—"

"Your life?" Joffrey interrupted, sneering. "Your life? Don't be so dramatic—"

"Your grace, I wouldn't exaggerate," Sansa put in, her tone hurried. "Please believe me. I wouldn't lie!"

"So what happened?" he inquired, turning his body to face her and gazing at her intently. "They cut you a bit? That's nothing compared to what I went through—you have absolutely no idea!"

"They almost took me there in the alleyway, Joff—your grace," Sansa managed to sputter, and tears began to flow from her eyes right then. "They were all filthy and mean and they beat me, one clamored over me and tried—but, but Ser Clegane came and killed all of them. I was so afraid," she said, and burst anew into sobs.

Joffrey watched her, growing slightly annoyed. "I can't understand you when you bawl like that," he said crisply. "_Took you? _Took you where?"

"Took me," she said in a hushed voice. "They almost… _raped _me. One of them asked if I'd ever been—if I ever had…well, sex. And before I knew it, he was pushing me down and pulling my legs apart-"

"Did they do anything to you?" Joffrey asked, his volume intensifying. She continued to cry, hiding her head in her hands. He slid closer to her and pulled her hands away from her face. She was snotty and blotchy but Joffrey was too invested in the conversation to mind much. "Did they touch you?" he questioned. "Tell me!"

"No!" Sansa burst out. "No, they didn't—Ser Clegane saved me just in time. It was horrible—"

"My poor lady," Joffrey said, his voice sliding into a tone of a sort of syrupy tenderness that even slightly surprised him as he heard the words leave his throat. "How dare they do that to you, how dare they! Wait here." He got to his feet and rifled about his dresser, finally snatching up a silk handkerchief. He rushed back to Sansa and sat beside her again. Through her tears, she gave him a strange expression as he began to wipe her tears from her eyes. "You may have this," he said after a few seconds, and passed her the kerchief before snaking an arm around her back.

"Thank you," Sansa said, holding his eye contact and sniffling quietly. "Thank you so much, your grace."

"_Joffrey," _he corrected softly. He put his palm to the side of her warm face and slowly brought his lips to hers. He sighed; she tasted of salty tears and he swore he could almost smell the hint of blood on her. Sansa shivered in his grasp as he deepened the kiss, his hand moving up and down the curve of her back. "If they had done such a thing to you," Joffrey said when he pulled back, "I would have tracked them down and pulled their guts out through their mouths. You're _my _lady. You belong to me. And I won't have other men touching or looking at what is mine. You can depend on that."

"Th-thank you, Joffrey," Sansa said, her breathing coming out in pants and her pretty cheeks a bit flushed.

"I'm the only one who gets to touch you," Joffrey went on, running his hand across her thigh now as he felt his heart pounding faster still. "Aren't I?"

Sansa nodded and swallowed, "Yes, Joffrey. Yes, you are."

"Good," he nodded, and reached out for her. Sansa gave his outstretched hands a wary look. "Take my hands in yours," he commanded, raising an eyebrow at her hesitation. She quickly did as she was asked. Joffrey smiled and squeezed her fingers, savoring the feeling of her skin against his. "I forgive you for your impertinence yesterday. You must be tired, Sansa. I will escort you to your living quarters tonight. No doubt my dog has had enough excitement for the day. Come. Shall we go?" Beaming, he stood and held out an arm for Sansa to take.

Very slowly, his lady got to her feet, fixing her cloak back around her shoulders. "Yes, Joffrey," she said in a pleasant tone and slipped her delicate arm through his. Joffrey puffed out his chest and his heart sang. Mother was right: His day _had _improved. It seemed his troubles were over.


	12. Kissing and Killing

A/N: Thanks again for the feedback and alerts/favs. For you Sandor/Sansa fans, there's some tension coming up and perhaps a hint of a sweet moment later but as I warned you it will all end tragically.. as with everything else in this damned story. Please keep reviewing. Thanks, -HF

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Chapter Twelve: Kissing and Killing

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SANSA

..

_You can't avoid his eyes. Smile at him. Don't cry. Don't panic. Don't make a sound. Keep smiling! Try not to shake! You must look at him when he speaks to you, _Sansa urged herself, willing a small grin to claim her lips as she walked arm-in-arm with King Joffrey. This version of Joffrey, this sugary-tongued and chivalrous shadow of the boy she'd been enamored with so long ago, scared her deeply. He was strutting like a proud rooster but Sansa knew by now that Joffrey's demeanor could change at any point, for virtually every reason—or no real reason at all. It would be one thing if she could interpret Joffrey and know how to coax the right responses out of him. The truth was, Sansa had tried desperately to see a pattern. Unfortunately for her, she was realizing that Joffrey was perhaps even madder than she'd previously thought. Sansa's life had become a puzzle, a logic exercise in how to keep a fanatical, blood-thirsty boy satisfied. Just when she thought she had the answer to Joffrey, his eyes would widen and his teeth would clench, and he'd erupt in rage. And other times, he was silent and brooding. Rarer still were the positive moods, like this saccharine sweet display of chivalry. A year ago, Sansa would have done anything to have Joffrey walk with her like this, but now it made her insides twist and turn in terror.

He'd been absolutely hateful to her at the docks today, which she'd expected given his rage at her defense of Prince Tommen yesterday. However, his actions just moments ago had completely baffled her. The tender kisses and gentle way he'd held her hands in his own had made her both nauseous and light-headed. She despised him with everything she had left inside her, yet she could not shake the thoughts of how she'd touched herself the night before. Sansa was filled with what felt like thousands of emotions and guilt, befuddlement and revulsion were bubbling right up to the top. Though his kissing had been anything but rough, the very last thing Sansa wanted today was more unwelcome touching.

She had periodically gone between crying quietly and sitting silently since the riot. She stood staring out the window of her room and wringing her hands in her hair. Shae had tried to speak with her, as had the several handmaidens and nurse who attended to her after the attack. Sansa insisted she was fine but the real truth was that she did not feel like speaking. She did not want to answer any questions. She did not want to discuss what had happened. The women had all had the same question: _Did they take it? Did they take your maidenhead? They did not ruin you for the king, did they? _Shae had stood in the corner, looking away while Sansa put on a wide-eyed expression of relief: _"No, no. Ser Clegane saved me before they could do anything to me like that!" _Then she'd guiltily told them all to leave. Shae had remained, but Sansa shook her head, her face turning red as her hair. _"Out," _she'd hissed, _"please get out."_

She'd re-imagined the scene, over and over again, all day. The people seemed so hurt and angry in the streets, crying and calling out for bread. Sansa had wished she'd had food to offer them, and she had felt strange in her expensive silken gown. And Joffrey had seemed, as usual, completely unaffected by the scene as they'd moved through the street. Sansa once imagined him as a benevolent and just king, her perfect husband, and had visions of them walking side by side. They would smile serenely, conversing with the common people and keeping order in Westeros. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. _Joffrey seemed to care nothing for the ailing townsfolk, just as he did not care much for matters of state or work in general. For all Sansa saw, he paraded about the grounds of the castle with the Hound, or thought up senseless punishments before the court. Sansa had foolishly thought Robert was a subpar king; she'd thought him silly and unsightly. But she'd take that reality back in a heartbeat. For not only was Sansa beginning to see that her future husband was a far worse ruler than his father—the whole of Westeros seemed to be seeing it, too. Things were never going to get better with King Joffrey. She was already deeply embarrassed imagining having to call herself his queen. It was hideous enough sitting by his side and pretending to agree with his brutality. Imagine if everyone knew they'd been intimate. She'd be far more hated than Joffrey could ever be.

She'd almost been glad when he'd gotten a pile of manure launched at his face though her first thought was that the event would turn his mood sour, making him harder to deal with. She hated that he was always in the forefront of her mind. Even as the men had cornered her, she'd thought, _Joffrey—this is different than you, they truly want me dead, you say you'll kill me but when you look at me I don't see it in your eyes, these men, they want me with something different inside of them._

She'd wondered alone, had the crowd of men who'd cornered her smelt the lust she felt for Joffrey on her? Could they see she'd been spoiled, that she was no longer the Stark family's good, loyal girl? The only man in the group who had spoken to her had pulled at her garments and leered through nasty teeth, asking _"Have you been fucked, little girl?" _Sansa wondered if saying "yes" could have deferred them, or if her throat would have been slit straight away instead (_is that what girls like me deserve?_). She'd been completely shocked when Ser Clegane had shown up to defend her. He'd brutally murdered her attackers before hoisting her up over his shoulder and had carried her off to the castle as she sobbed into his sweaty neck. Sansa was glad to be alive, but seeing him disembowel and slaughter the men right in front of her eyes had only added to her shock. _Arya would definitely make fun of me, she'd say I should be happy those men are dead! But I did not want anyone to die. I just wanted to be left alone. I wish none of it had happened, beginning with how stupid I was back in Winterfell. I should have never told Father and Mother I wanted to marry Joffrey. I demanded them to make me marry him! I'm being punished for my sin. I really am! I thought it would be like the songs, like the knights and ladies in the ballads. But it's not a ballad with Joffrey. It's a death march. _She had only been torn from her thoughts when Ser Clegane had rapped at her door. She'd covered her bare shoulders in furs at once and had hurried to the door.

Sansa's stomach had turned at the sight of him, but not because of his face this time. He'd seen her spread-eagled on the dirty ground clutching at her torn dress and though Sansa knew he simply thought of her as a silly little girl, she was still mortified. Her hand shaking on the doorknob, she'd stared past his head, unsure of what to say. _Thank him, _she urged herself but the words would not come.

He had glared down at her as usual. Obviously their interaction during the riot had not had an effect on him whatsoever. "The king has decided he'd like to see you in his chambers, little bird. Orders from her grace, the queen regent. The king is interested in your wounds. He'd like to discuss what happened to you today."

"He wants _what?" _Sansa had asked without really thinking. "I mean to say, he knows what occurred?" _Gods, he'll be angry! He'll be so angry! He'll throttle me for getting lost in the crowd!_

"I said nothing," grunted the Hound in a savage tone. His eyes glittered black like scurrying spiders. "Where's your smile, girl? Your beloved king has remembered you exist! What a blessed day it must be for you."

"It is," Sansa said quickly, though she did not much like the Hound's boorish tone. "I'll be happy to see my King Joffrey. But I am not decent." She gestured down to her nightclothes.

The Hound snorted cruelly and rolled his eyes. "And you think I believe you for a second that it _matters _whether you are decent for the king?"

Sansa's face flushed and she narrowed her eyes. "I don't understand what you think you mean, Ser," she said indignantly, but the Hound raised up a large arm, shaking his finger at her.

"I've told you a thousand times, girl. _I'm not a Ser. I'm not a knight," _Clegane growled. "Are you coming or not? We don't want to keep his _grace _waiting."

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry," Sansa said quietly, trying to hold back tears. His forcible way of speaking frightened her, but she told herself to be calm. The calmer she was, the better she would be able to handle Joffrey. But she feared that today, she did not have the strength.

And now here she was, leaving the king's chambers with him, arm-in-arm as if they were the pleasant couple she'd once imagined back in Winterfell. He was walking in step with her and actually allowed her to take his arm rather than snatching her hands but this only added to Sansa's nervousness. She wanted to be alone in a hot bath in her chambers, not strolling with King Joffrey away from anyone who could possibly hear her cries of protest. _Once he gets me back to my room, what then? Is this some sort of plan? Sometimes he seems too mad for a plan, like he does whatever comes to his mind without a second thought. But other times, his ideas seem thought out far, far in advance. Like poor Ser Dontos. I'd never dream of drowning a man in wine. What kind of dreadful thought is that?_

"My lady," Joffrey said, his voice high and smooth. "What are you thinking so deeply about?" He ran a long hand across her back as they walked around the corner into the long hallway that led to the first set of stairs.

Sansa shivered at his touch, disliking the closeness. She got a clear flashing image in her mind of the mob from the riot (_"have you ever been fucked little girl?"_). "I'm still thinking about earlier," she said in a whisper, hoping this answer would not set Joffrey into ridiculing her for being a baby.

"Those men really scared you, didn't they?" asked Joffrey in an intrigued tone. Sansa wanted to jostle his arm; she hated his voice, that strange curiosity that made him sound hungry rather than concerned. But she ignored her gut response, set her jaw, and nodded in a solemn fashion. "Well," Joffrey went on, raising his voice, "That will not happen again if I have anything to do with it. You're safe with me. You know that."

_Winterfell, _a small voice in Sansa's head hissed, _that's what you said in Winterfell and you are a liar, liar, liar, safe with you? You make me scream, and you laugh. You bite me until I hurt. Shove your hands in me, take me, spoil me. You ran from the riot. You cried when my little sister threatened you. You mock your mother but hide behind her when you want something. You're repulsive and I wish I could stop thinking about you! You vile, evil—_

"What are you doing?" Joffrey suddenly snapped, and Sansa broke out of her thoughts. _Was I speaking aloud? I wasn't, was I?_

"I'm not doing anything, Joffrey," Sansa said quickly and whimpered as he wrenched his arm from hers.

"I wasn't speaking to you," he said quickly. Then, he shouted down the hallway: "Dog, why are you at the stairs?"

Sansa looked up and, sure enough, Ser Clegane was standing near the main stairwell, leaning one arm on the banister. But at Joffrey's yell, Clegane straightened up and turned to face them. "Simply doing as I have been told, your grace," he replied. "Waiting for your orders."

Sansa noticed a difference in his tone. It had nothing of its usual bite. Joffrey grabbed her hand and continued briskly toward where Clegane was positioned, dragging Sansa along like a ragdoll.

"Is Lady Stark ready to be delivered back to her chambers?" Clegane inquired, reclaiming some of his normal gruffness but Sansa did not take comfort in his lowered head, or his averted eyes. Before she could wonder if something was wrong, Joffrey continued talking:

"I didn't ask for you to be a hallway guard dog, though, did I? I told you I should call for you when I needed you and as it stands, I do not need you. My lady has asked for _me _to deliver her back to her chambers and your assistance is not needed, Hound." Luckily, Joffrey's voice was somewhat amicable if not fueled with arrogance. "Didn't you, sweet lady?" He turned to cast Sansa a smile, and squeezed her hand harder still.

"Yes, your grace," she nodded, though it wasn't the truth, not at all. "Yes, I did."

"See, Dog? We just don't need you," said Joffrey, and though his voice kept that even tone, his sneer was not lost on Sansa.

Clegane looked to and fro as though he had a mind to say something else, but instead he gave a deep bow of his head. Sansa winced as his knotted hair fell aside a bit, revealing his grotesque burns in full. She wished he'd wear his helmet much more often than he did. It still gave him a foreboding look but it was somewhat more palatable. He straightened up and made to walk away.

"Wait," Joffrey called. Ser Clegane stopped in his tracks as Joffrey went on. "You didn't tell me about how gallant you were today, Dog. But my lady has told me everything. You saved her when I could not. For this, I am indebted to you. You are very brave, rescuing a poor, helpless girl and I am very pleased with your service." On the contrary, he sounded like he might suddenly burst into laughter. Sansa suddenly felt even more ill as Joffrey stroked her fingers. _What is he doing? What's in his head? _

Clegane kept his eyes averted and made a slight grunting sound. "Brave? I saved a sparrow from rats. You owe me nothing, your grace. It was nothing—"

"Ah," Joffrey said, and he beamed, "So you think my lady is nothing?"

"Not one bit, your grace. She is your betrothed, which is why I went after her. The girl is not nothing, but she is nothing to _this _Dog—"

Sansa looked away, unsure of where this conversation was going. She wasn't surprised she was nothing to Ser Clegane, but it wasn't a pleasant thing to hear anyway.

"So she's _not… _nothing?" Joffrey asked, drawing out his words and blinking his eyelashes angelically. "I suppose I don't understand. You either saved someone important. Or… you didn't. So which is it, Dog?"

Clegane gave a wheezing laugh. "Of course she is important, my king. She is your beloved and I work only for you. I take my orders from you and for you. Why would I not save her? Why would I expect any sort of acknowledgment?"

"Because," Joffrey said, and there was a very slight change in his voice. "Because, Dog, I didn't _order _you to save her and you take your orders from the king. Do you not? I mean… You just said you take your orders from me and so I am confused—"

"If it was not what your grace wanted, I do humbly apologize," Clegane said quickly and with another bow of his great head. "I figured you wouldn't want her ravished and stained out there in the streets. It's no place for the king's lady, after all."

"No apologies are necessary," grinned Joffrey, all dimples. "You're lucky for this, Dog. It pleases me you saved my lady as she is my one true love." Sansa held back a shudder at the way he said it, _one true love, _all drawn out and snide like that joke it truly was. "I say again, I am indebted to you. Whatever you wish, you can have."

Clegane shook his head hard. "Nothing, your grace. It's my duty. I ask for nothing."

"So, you _wouldn't _like a kiss from my lady?"

Sansa's head snapped up at once and she stared at Joffrey in disbelief. "A kiss?" she wavered, her face growing hot. _Please, Joffrey, no—no, he scares me. Don't. _

"Yes, I think it's only fair to offer my hound a kiss from you, Lady Sansa," said Joffrey, and he was talking excitedly now, his words falling from his mouth as quickly as he could deliver them. "After all, men can take what they want from girls. I think you knew that already, but you surely did discover that today." He laughed, but there was only coldness in the sound.

"I don't want a kiss from your lady, my king," Clegane declared strongly, and Sansa felt her body relax in relief. "You owe me nothing. And she is only yours."

"You are right! She's mine and so I do with her as I so choose," Joffrey said in a crisp way, and he dropped Sansa's hand and nudged her forward. "Take a kiss from her, if it pleases you. Kiss her anywhere you like. I won't mind."

Sansa threw Joffrey a wild-eyed glance, her heart racing. _Not this! Not after everything—oh please! _But Joffrey simply crossed his arms and fixed her with a smile.

"But it wouldn't please me, your grace," the Hound said steadily and finally, he looked at the king with piercing eyes. "It wouldn't be at all what I wanted and I feel I should leave you to deliver your lady safely to her chambers. I should not like to kiss her. Not at all. If you would like to give me something, allow me to act out your next execution. Killing pleases me. Kissing does not."

"Very well," Joffrey said, sounding a bit affronted in Sansa's opinion. "You shall have as you wish, Dog. Come, Sansa." He held out his hand to her as she removed herself from her thoughts, feeling in a slight haze. "I said, _come!" _he cried sharply, and she flew to his side, taking his hand in hers. As they headed toward the staircase, Sansa gave a last look at Clegane, who was shaking his head at her and scowling.

. . .

"You didn't want to kiss my Hound," Joffrey said as they approached the second set of stairs, his hand holding hers in a solid grip.

At once, Sansa shook her head, glad she did not have to lie. "Of course I didn't!" she burst out. "He still frightens me, even now—"

"Even after saving you so bravely?" Joffrey asked, loosening his fingers a bit.

"No one is braver than you," Sansa said, nearly choking on the falseness of the words. But Joffrey seemed to accept this answer, wearing a small smile.

He led her down the winding hallway, and they climbed yet another set of stairs. "Odd, wasn't it? He was clearly waiting for you to leave my chambers," he finally said.

"It was likely just a coincidence," Sansa said, though she remembered that Clegane had attempted to help her once before from Joffrey's wrath, not to mention he had covered her breasts after Joffrey had ordered her stripped before the court. But the man still appeared to hate her and she doubted very much he'd risk his life for a girl that was "nothing" to him. What did he care whether Joffrey abused her, anyway?

"A what?" Joffrey asked, furrowing his brow.

"Er—a coincidence, he probably was just there as we were leaving, for no real reason," Sansa said quickly.

"Oh," Joffrey sniffed, "Yes, of course. Yes, you might well be right. My dog doesn't care much for people. Unless he's hurting them," he giggled boyishly. "It's why we get on so well."

_You don't get on well at all, _Sansa wanted to say. _You tell him what to do and call him names, and he thinks you're ridiculous—that I can tell. He's a real killer and you want to be like him. You wish you were fearless and brave. _

But even after all these rational thoughts, when they reached the corridor to Sansa's room and Joffrey leaned in and kissed her with soft, lying lips, she felt her knees go faint. Again, Joffrey's familiar musky, clean scent filled her nostrils as he pulled at her lips gently with his own, curled his fingers through her hair and tugged lightly. Sansa felt her breathing change and her heartbeat quicken. She tried to lose herself in thought, tried to lose control and block Joffrey out, fearful that if she didn't, she'd be too disgusted in herself later to carry on.

Sansa was not certain how long they kissed for. Her mind was a blank screen and her thoughts were happily vapid. When he finally let her go, she mustered a smile. "Goodnight, my king," she said, and she felt her voice displayed the picture of tender love. Without really planning to do so, she ducked in again to Joffrey and kissed the side of his smooth face. She heard his breath catch in his throat, felt him tense up against her, and this gave Sansa great confidence. He'd been affected by _her _touch, not through watching her in pain or causing her harm. He'd _liked _her kiss. _If I can make him happy, he will not hurt me so. Perhaps he will leave me be. This is so much better than accusing me of aiding Robb in traitorous acts, better than squalling or being slapped by knights. I can do this. Shae was right. I can keep the king satisfied, and I will survive this. _She broke off the kiss and gave a curtsy, proud. From the way her stomach was churning somewhat pleasantly, it was as though she'd almost fooled herself.

Joffrey watched her as she put her hand to the door, a half-dazed look upon his face that made him look like a naive boy. "You can't," he said at last, his voice strangely choked up. "I want more of you." And with that, the boy-king continued to stare at Sansa in that fond, innocent manner, which contrasted deeply with the way he grabbed her roughly by the hair, shoved her into her chambers and slammed the door behind them.


	13. Red and Thick

Chapter Thirteen: _Red and Thick_

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JOFFREY

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His groin hardening from the feel of Sansa's lips against his, Joffrey dragged her by the hair and shoved her hard onto her four-poster bed. He was flushed from excitement; he felt in complete control and mature, heroic. She'd sung his praises, and from her reactions he'd garnered that perhaps she had not even remembered seeing him get abused by the crowd. Likely, she'd been too distracted by her near-rape and for that Joffrey was beyond pleased. Though he did not like this bizarre development with the Hound, he wanted to push it to the back of his mind for now. Joffrey was usually quite talented at burying what he wanted to un-see or forget. He buried thoughts in his brain as he did animals in the dirt, and for now he wanted his focus to only be on Sansa Stark. The first time they'd lain together, he'd been so obsessed with doing it right, with having the courage to overpower her and get it in and come inside her, that he really hadn't been able to thoroughly enjoy her the way he would have liked. He was ready for that to change though he'd been having some difficulty keeping the bad thoughts out this week. He was not certain what had triggered them, but he'd had to do extra burying, pressing the thoughts deep, deep down.

"_Sansa," _he breathed as he held her down by her neck and climbed over her, inspecting her face. She said nothing but did not look as frightened as usual, staring up at him with her deep blue eyes. They were nearly nose-to-nose; he was so close to her face he could smell her slightly floral scent, and he still wondered if that slight tang that reminded him of blood was the wound on her shoulder. His erection jutting out against Sansa's middle, Joffrey took her face in his and kissed her while stroking her hair. "Kiss my face again," he commanded in a low tone, his hands encasing her cheeks. Sansa abided, planting her soft lips on his jaw line, his face, his earlobe. Joffrey felt his breathing hitch in his throat as her wet mouth made contact with his skin. When she let her kisses travel down his neck, tickling him, he gave a slight whining moan. _It feels good, surprisingly, _he thought, _it's not bad, it's really not too terrible at all. If she keeps doing this, perhaps it will be enough. _After all, Sansa had been very good this evening, a terrific turn of events. She'd obviously been uninterested in the Hound, _disgusted, really, _and she had complimented Joffrey's bravery. She'd been so affectionate and sweet toward him, the way it should have always been if all had gone as planned, before the Starks had ruined Joffrey's betrothal with their treachery.

_She seems as though she speaks in earnest. I was ready to give up on her again. I was ready to beat her raw for how she addressed me yesterday. She had no business interrupting my business with Tommen—I cannot believe that little rat told Mother I dared Myrcella to put her hand in the fireplace. I had to do one last funny thing with her before she left to Dorne! It was fortunate Mother took my side... _Joffrey grunted as Sansa continued to kiss him, her mouth back on his ear again. _I want Sansa to be good. Like this, forever. It's so much easier this way. _"What were you thinking when I told my Hound he could kiss you?" he said suddenly, and rolled off Sansa to lie by her side.

"What do you mean?" Sansa whispered, eyes latched onto Joffrey's gaze. Her baffled expression displeased him. He'd liked their kiss outside her door, so why was she suddenly acting different? What had changed?

Joffrey ran a finger down Sansa's chest, slowly dragging against her stomach. The silkiness of her nightgown against his hand made his hardness twitch slightly; it reminded him of being a little boy and nestling himself in his mother's lap, rubbing his hands on her soft gowns. The sensation was pleasant and clean, though it did give Joffrey a peculiar feeling to reminiscence like that. He didn't often like to let his mind dwell on infancy, and he'd already decided he needed to focus on Sansa. _Stay here, _he urged himself, trying desperately to pull back, _she's right here, right here with you. You are in bed with her. _Joffrey pinched her stomach slightly through the silk, and Sansa let out a slightly squeak of protest, but then she hummed out a tone that set his heart to pounding. "When I told my dog to kiss you," Joffrey said, "what were you thinking? You must have been thinking something."

"I told you, your grace," Sansa said, and though her eyes seemed a bit blank, there was a slight smile on her face. "I shouldn't have liked to kiss him. I don't like the idea one bit. Would it have pleased you, your grace?"

Joffrey tried to control his breathing, tried to calm himself at her words. He spoke in a quiet, ragged tone, dragging out each word as he slowly slipped his palm up inside Sansa's nightclothes, rubbing his hand over her warm thigh. "It might have amused me for a moment," he said, "because you are mine to give, and it may have been quite funny to see the Dog slobber all over my lady. And I would have stepped in and saved you. Would you have liked that?"

"Oh yes," she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut and her legs giving a slight jolt. Joffrey let out a low laugh as he pulled his hand across her middle, ran it up to her left breast and squeezed ever so slightly. "_Joffrey_," Sansa said softly, and he moaned at the sound of his name, flicking her nipple. "But I wouldn't like him to kiss me. Not at all—"

"But you enjoy my kissing," Joffrey said, and leaned in to bring his lips to hers again, his hand teasing her nipple before switching to her right breast and squeezing that one in a slow motion. _Of course she does, _he told himself, _why even say such a thing aloud? _

"Of course I do," Sansa said quickly, and Joffrey beamed at her response, at the sincerity and lack of hesitation. She moaned again as he kissed her hard on the mouth, pulling out his hand and seizing her by the hair once more. She squirmed when he slipped his tongue between her lips, but then, tentatively, she flicked his tongue with her own. Joffrey groaned; this was almost too much, too good. _But not good enough—there is something missing._ He gripped her hair harder and Sansa whimpered, her breath coming out in sharp pants. Her eyes were focused on him and she looked interested. Perhaps excited, even? Hungrily, Joffrey moved closer to her, his arms wrapping around her lower back as they kissed. His hardness rubbed between Sansa's legs and she let out a gasping sigh, weaving her hands into Joffrey's bangs. He sputtered out a groan. "_Joffrey," _she said, so quietly he almost did not catch it.

Joffrey was used to eliciting negative reactions: gasps, whimpers, sobs of discomfort, blank and desolate expressions. Generally, he did not care one way or another what others were doing or how they were responding. Fear often aided in Joffrey's pleasure. But at this change of direction, this evidence that maybe Sansa was willing to be touched by him, Joffrey gave a long moan, heart racing. "Yes," he said, his erection rubbing against the seam of his trousers now, "yes, tell me how I'm brave. Tell me I'm the king, the true king."

"You are," Sansa said, her eyes closing again, and she shivered as he fumbled with the front of his trousers. "You are the bravest king, the only king! My brave Joffrey. Just like the ballad of Lady Eyrn and Ser Tomas, like that."

"Like what?" Joffrey questioned breathlessly into her ear, hand on his front where he was disrobing, peeling layers away to expose his hard cock. "Who?"

"It's a Northern ballad," Sansa explained quickly, and moaned as he cupped the front of her privates through her nightgown. Joffrey grinned as she continued. "Ser Tomas was a brave and gallant knight, the bravest there ever was, and he saved his lady from all kinds of dangers. I used to sing the song when I was a girl. I always hoped I would find a boy like him."

Joffrey kicked off his trousers and boots, and held his cock in his hand, stroking it frantically. "I'm better than that, though," he muttered, watching Sansa's face as she stared at the pumping motion his hand was making. "I'm a king, not a knight. I'm a _king."_

"Yes," Sansa nodded, "you are a king—"

"Tell me about today," Joffrey murmured. "About how I saved you from those men in the alley. _Oh," _he moaned out, pulling himself in a harder grip. A slick little spurt of pre-seminal liquid ran out and he vigorously used it to lubricate himself, grunting thickly and biting his lip. After a few seconds of silence, he threw an expectant look at Sansa. "Go on!" he demanded in a sharp voice, and whined out another moan. _Keep talking, it's good, it's good—soon, I will be ready and I'll have you and you'll see how great I am, all over again. _

Sansa faltered for a moment, and he fixed her with his powerful stare until she nodded, drawing a breath. "You were so brave, my king, when you saw me there. If it weren't for you, I'd be dead—they'd have killed me and you saved me from them. You were slashing them with your sword and you killed each one—"

"Describe it to me," Joffrey said, pulling himself harder. "Describe it in detail, how I killed them!" When he shut his eyes, he could imagine himself perfectly in the scene and it seemed so realistic he could have sworn he was actually there.

"You were a great fighter. You killed them, all of them—you did it so fast, too—"

"Was there blood"

"…Yes."

"_Oh, _describe the blood—"

"Red, thick, and so much of it, too," Sansa whispered.

"And was there blood on you? Was there a lot of blood from your cut?"

"Y-yes," Sansa put in somewhat slowly. "Yes, there was blood on me—"

Joffrey nodded, ecstatic. "Good, good, yes, you looked so beautiful. And I helped you up and I held you in my arms and told you I'd never let anything happen to you, ever again. You are my lady, my queen. And I lifted you up onto my horse—" he took Sansa's hand in his and brought it to his cock. She very slowly began to run her fist up and down his shaft, watching him all the time. Joffrey gritted his teeth, his head leaning back onto the pillow. "Faster," he commanded, and put his hand over hers, directing her movements over him. "Better," he murmured, _"better, _yes—yes—!"

Sansa caught his eyes in her curious gaze and she quickened her pace. Joffrey tried to lose himself and close his eyes, but he snapped them open to watch her. Though her movements were not unsatisfactory, he wasn't entirely pleased with this. Relinquishing control gave him a sick feeling deep inside that interfered with his concentration. Joffrey blinked several times, swallowing to moisten his dry throat. He tried to focus on Sansa's hair and face, the steady motion of her hand over his hardness. Her red curls swung around her shoulders, free and loose. He favored her hair that way though the red color still gave him slight unease, as beautiful as it was. Joffrey tried to lose himself in the pleasure but the thoughts were getting in tonight.

_At least she doesn't have it pulled up as she did earlier, _he decided, clenching his teeth as she looked him over for a response and continued to stroke him, _it should be clear to her by now that she should not wear such styles. That stupid red-haired whore had red curls all set up atop her head; it was almost as though Uncle Tyrion knew and chose her to mock me. Stop thinking about it. Think about Sansa. _But as he watched her shyly work his cock with her hand, Joffrey's dread grew. Sitting back was not his place. He wasn't going to be the recipient here. He did not want her to have the satisfaction of seeing his reactions, did not want to weaken himself by letting her please him like this. Besides, her bowed head was distracting; he kept imagining her red curly locks pulled up in a Southern style and while he could not quite explain why he was so fixated upon this, he could not stomach another second. He pushed her hand off him and gripped her throat.

"Lie back," he hissed and she did as she was instructed, letting out a small whimper. Joffrey smiled at her submission, instantly feeling his strange apprehension disappear like smoke in the air. Sansa kept her eyes on his as he struggled to put himself inside her, and she let out a short, piercing cry when he finally found her entrance. He massaged her breast through the silky gown as he slid inside her cunt, and he felt an enormous difference in the feeling instantly. "You feel—wet," he managed to get out, sighing in pleasure. "You're so, so wet—"

"I'm sorry!" Sansa said, and her face looked rosy; she was blushing deeply.

"It feels good," Joffrey retorted. "It pleases me—." He stopped talking to let out a groan, bringing himself out of her a tiny bit and then slapping his cock back in. He relished in the sensation, the skin-on-skin sounds and Sansa's dripping core. _Let this be enough, _he told himself, _let it do. It's good enough. _But in that place in the back of his mind, he knew he'd need something more eventually. He lasted a minute before the feeling grew tired, and he squeezed her nipple as hard as he could through her nightgown. Sansa gave a cry, a shrill and loud protesting cry. "It hurts, doesn't it?" Joffrey grinned, and drove himself into her again. "Only I can make you hurt," he whispered, his eyes heavily lidded with enjoyment. He worked up a rhythm, slamming into her quickly as she gave short moans and stared up at him widely. _And you won't ever hurt me because you're afraid of me. Just as it should be. _

Joffrey's motions made a rapid squelching sound as he drove himself in and out of Sansa, and his jaw was slightly ajar with pleasure. He sighed and gripped her hands, taking them hard in his fingers and holding them against the pillow. "I can't stand much longer," he said, "you do feel good, Sansa." She said nothing, her face motionless. "_I said_, you feel good—"

"And so do you," Sansa offered almost cautiously, prompting Joffrey to pump her harder, tightening his grip on her fingers. "Joffrey! Yes, it is good!" she called, in a tone that was neither unpleasant nor favorable. Another familiar voice, one that Joffrey sometimes heard in his ears if he did not go to great lengths to avoid it, rang in his head as he fucked her:_ You are a good boy aren't you, a handsome prince, his grace is too tired now, what is wrong now, come and I will help you, no I do not know where the queen is, not here, why don't you come sit in my lap. _He gripped Sansa strongly and drove himself into her, willing himself to be vacant, to lose these wandering thoughts. He'd been so successful at focusing before—why couldn't he do it now? Why was his mind playing these tricks on him when he needed to be in control? He had to be in control, had to overpower Sansa, prove himself, proving himself would take away the bad things. It always seemed to, at least.

Joffrey let out a small, reproachful sound as he felt on the verge of softening inside of Sansa and in that instant he knew it was unavoidable. He mentally cursed, making a face. Just like that, he lost his erection and was staring down at her, completely mortified. Sansa stared up at him in that naïve, wide-eyed way and he prayed she did not understand. He pulled out of her and ran a hand nervously through his hair, his shoulders shaking slightly as he sat up straight next on the bed next to her reclined body. It seemed that there was an endless silence that followed, Sansa looking at him apprehensively as his breathing returned to normal. He wanted very much to release his orgasm inside her, but he knew from experience it would be difficult now. He did not want Sansa to see him struggling with his erection, and he'd have to try other ways to get himself hard; given his usual routine, it could take several minutes or an hour, or two. Or three. Worse, it might never happen. Tonight, it had almost worked to be content with talking to Sansa and feeling her mouth on his, her hands on him. _Almost. _Joffrey seethed inside. _It's never enough! _He punched the mattress in frustration and Sansa jumped, making a slight noise of surprise.

"Is something wrong?" she bleated.

"I'M FINE!" Joffrey burst out, balling his fists and refraining from slapping her across the face. "I can handle myself, you know!" Red-faced and feeling very young, he gathered his clothing and dressed, turning away from her as he did so. He pulled his trousers and tunic back on, and put on his boots, breathing hard. "I request you to be at dinner this week," he said through a glower when he finally turned back to face her. He pointed at her, finger shaking slightly in the air. "And you won't wear your hair up. Be sure to remember that!"

Sansa pulled her nightgown over herself and peered at him from the bed as he stalked toward the door. _Next time, I'll fuck her until she bleeds! I'll have her until she's screaming! That will work! It has to, _he decided and grabbed the doorknob. He threw the door open and found himself face to face with a slight, very pretty dark-haired woman. Joffrey looked her up and down, eyebrows raised. She was wearing the attire of a handmaiden but she was unfamiliar to him.

The strange handmaiden gasped, covering her mouth. "Your grace!" she exclaimed, giving Joffrey the very worst curtsy he had ever seen in his entire life.

He couldn't hold back a snort before throwing a glance back at Sansa. "Is this one yours?" he asked in a scoffing tone, though he approved of the woman's obvious respect for him.

Sansa nodded, and her eyes were huge. "I'm so sorry!" she put in, grabbing her coverlet and throwing it over herself. "I—Shae—the king was just—"

"No explanation is necessary," Joffrey said with a flippant shrug and a sneer. He looked the handmaiden straight in her black eyes. "You won't repeat to anyone that I was here… or I'll chop your head off. Ask Sansa what I did to her father and you'll think twice about spreading rumors about your king." He threw a sweet smile back at Sansa and then faced the handmaiden. "Besides, my betrothed and I were merely conversing." His voice was thick with honey, that tone that made his mother smile and everyone else shake.

The handmaiden kept her head lowered, hands held in front of her. "I wouldn't dream of it, your grace. I saw nothing. Absolutely nothing. You were not ever here, your grace," she said in a firm, serious tone.

"Good!" Joffrey said loudly. "Goodnight, Sansa. Sleep well," he said, his voice somewhere in between falsely polite and sincerely caring. Joffrey liked to keep everyone guessing, especially the people closest to him. They should never take him for granted. He could do anything he wanted and say what he pleased.

As he pushed past the handmaiden and made the walk back to his chambers, he felt a very tiny inkling of dread. In the days to come, he'd need to be prudent about making certain that bitch was not going to blabber to his mother or any of the other cunts who worked in the castle. There were always little birds flitting around, and that did not just mean ravens. Although Joffrey's tone had been confident, he realized after a few moments of walking that his knees were wobbling slightly. When he reached his chambers, he flopped onto his bed, his mind a cloud of images that played behind his eyes like gruesome illustrations. He passed out moments later, immune to it all by now. He slept deeply but it was the kind of sleep that brings no comfort; it was only a few hours' rest to endure the next living day.


	14. No Children

**A/N:** The end of the chapter may differ a bit from a scene in the show, but I figure we have all seen the show and so I'd like to give a new perspective. Nothing will change much, but I'm not a fan of writing show lines word for word, unless the dialogue is brief. It's exciting because there are some pivitol scenes coming up and it's been a fun puzzle to work this entire story together, wrapping it around show/some book canon, and seeing how all my ideas are playing out on the page. I want to thank Tobiume for lengthy discussions and feedback, and also all of you who review/follow this fic. I write for my own enjoyment but it adds to my motivation when others like what I'm putting out there.

Also, *dark laugh*, it's all about to get very miserable for some of these characters. One of my main goals is creating a believable dark romance while keeping Joffrey and Sansa completely in character (with some liberties, of course). There are hints (and MORE than hints) of the lengths of Joffrey's madness/cruelty in the books and obvious evidence of insanity/sadism both in the show and books. It irritates me when these things are removed for the sake of making a character "look better" for fanfic. Joffrey will hopefully be a bit more empathetic as the story goes on but this does not mean he's forgivable.  
Anyway, I look forward to hearing what people think.

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Chapter Fourteen:_ No Children_

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SANSA  
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"Lady Sansa!" burst out Shae in a hushed voice, rushing to the bed. Her eyes were wild with question, questions Sansa already knew she did not wish to answer.

Sansa's cheeks were tinged pink and her body pulsed with emotion: she was reeling over Joffrey's frivolous mentioning of her father's beheading but also ashamed, and confused and… Something else? She was unsure how to pinpoint just what it was. When Joffrey had asked Sansa to describe the scene of him rescuing her from her assailants, she'd realized just how important it was for him to be the hero of the tale rather than the Hound. It was almost sort of sweet. _Well, _she corrected herself, _it would have been sweet months ago. Before Father. Before everything went so wrong._ Though, as she'd questioningly watched him touch himself, Sansa had discovered how very easy it was to imagine Joffrey in the hero's role. After all, she'd spent much time in Winterfell idealizing Joffrey, fantasizing about her sweet blond prince with the emerald gaze and kind heart. Though Joffrey's request to hear about the blood was a bit off-putting, he'd also fashioned them a story where he'd promised her loyalty, romantically clutched to her and lifted her onto his horse for them to ride off together back to their castle. He'd even called her his queen. This kind of tale always put Sansa's heart aflutter, and just moments ago she'd been in bed beside her betrothed king, sharing fantasies together and touching each other in a manner Sansa did not dislike. And when he'd entered her, it had been different, entirely different. There was something in his touch that was more appealing. He had not been so harsh or hasty until the very end when he'd looked at her as if he was furious with her. Sansa had no idea why and she had no time to dissect the scene because Shae was staring at her in expectant concern.

"I had no idea, I mean—of course I did not know, but it was not my intention to walk into that," Shae said quickly in a whisper. "He knows you have servants! How did he think he could keep it from everyone?" She spoke in a very quiet voice that Sansa had to strain to hear: "He _is _as stupid as they all say, isn't he!"

"That is not it," Sansa found herself saying, "he's not stupid, he likely did not even think about anyone else being here!" _Why am I defending him? _

Luckily Shae did not seem to notice the slip. "I'd be so sorry if he comes down harder on you for it but he cannot really expect to keep this hidden from everyone forever. Did he hurt you, Lady Sansa?"

Sansa felt her eyes slightly glaze over as Shae was talking and very slowly shook her head in response to the question. "It was—" she stopped herself, and tried to think of how to answer. "No, he did not hurt me," she finally said. Her face felt on fire; she was certain Shae was going to see beneath her red cheeks, see how she'd actually _enjoyed_ her time with Joffrey, all things considered. _It could have been much worse. He was not kind but he was not cruel. His teeth and the way he gripped my hands—that hurt, it hurt very much, but it was a different sort of hurt than a riding crop or having me beaten. It was… It was a nice sort of hurt. _Sansa bit her lip at this bizarre thought, trying to make sense of it. Joffrey had had repugnant moments while in her bed—the blood, his loud commands, his assertion that he was the only person who could make her hurt—but in contrast with the other times they'd spent together, Joffrey had actually shown a more favorable side of himself.

When he'd kissed her, Sansa was able to imagine everything was as it should be. This only lasted so long, but it was a welcome state of mind to live in, better than the reality of the situation that made her sick and ashamed. She'd been horrified at first at Joffrey's rough fumbling but it had improved drastically as they lay side by side. Sansa had been able to fashion a story in her head, that she'd been at the mercy of four very bad men and her heroic King Joffrey had ridden in on his horse, Valyrian steel sword swinging high in the air. The thing was, once they'd got to talking, it was not so difficult to imagine. When Joffrey kissed her with tenderness and slowly touched her tongue with his own instead of shoving it down her throat, he'd been like Sansa's ideal suitor. When he'd put himself inside her and stared into her eyes, she'd lost herself in his gaze, staring up at his handsome, boyish face. Sansa knew this was not real, yet it felt so good to wish it was.

"If you need me to stay away for a bit, I will," Shae was saying, "I just do not want you to be blamed. I do not want to leave your side, believe me—but I will do what is best for you. Especially after today! You have been through far too much in this place—"

"Shae, it is not your fault," Sansa said quickly, her body tensing up as she held the coverlet over herself. She was still pulsing and tingling slightly between her legs where Joffrey had been, and frantically trying to ignore it.

"I can help you," Shae said strongly, and she reached out to grip Sansa's shoulder but Sansa shrugged her off, disliking the contact. "Forgive me," Shae said, drawing back. "But—please, I offered before, when this all started happening, I can tell someone and he can help you. I know he can. He is close to the king, and while the king might not listen to him he could at least try—"

"No!" Sansa hissed, shaking her head. "No one can know! You heard Joffrey! He'd have you murdered—"

"He could try," Shae said quietly, and Sansa was irritated with her handmaiden's confidence. "Let me help you, Sansa. Let me do something."

"You can draw me a bath," Sansa said, "and stay with me until I fall asleep. That would help me, I think. Sometimes I just lie awake and I can't stop thinking of all the terrible things I cannot change. I try to pray but mostly I just try to piece together how it all went so wrong."

Shae gave a gusty sigh, her facial expression wholly empathetic. "You are only thirteen, but sometimes you seem to be much, much older."

Sansa looked at Shae and offered a slight smile. Years ago, she would have considered this a compliment, a quality to be cherished. "Thank you," she said in her best imitation of earnestness.

"I would not wish that on anyone, my lady. My childhood was robbed of me," Shae said quickly and she sat delicately on the edge of Sansa's bed. Sansa was mortified, she wanted to tell Shae she was not decent, wanted to exclaim that the king had just had her there, but she did not have the words. Shae went on, lightly fingering the bedspread between her pointer and thumb. "When I look at you, I see a beautiful and kind girl who sits trapped in a room all day. A prisoner."

_Get this bird back to her cage,_ the Hound had said.

"It is not so bad," Sansa said, voice cracking slightly as she held the coverlet to her still, with trembling hands.

"No need to pretend with me," Shae said, and her warm, kind tone sounded alien to Sansa after a long day spent with Joffrey and Ser Clegane. "You are safe with me. That I can offer you, if nothing else. I will help you bathe and I will brush your hair, and if you would like, I'll talk and if you don't like, I'll listen. I would offer to sing you a song, but you might throw me out the window when you hear my voice."

Sansa's brows furrowed slightly, slowly working out that it was a joke. A true smile blossomed on her lips and she allowed herself to laugh, to _really _laugh. Shae laughed, too, a musical and comforting sound. Sansa continued to laugh, breaking away from Joffrey, away from the fake story of her rescue, away from his piercing stare and pinching fingers, away from the possibility of being thrown to a man who terrified her for the king's amusement, away. And suddenly, Sansa was laughing and crying all at once, and she leaned toward Shae and let the woman take her into her arms. As Shae wrapped Sansa in a hug, Sansa felt present for the first time that day. Shae cared about her enough that she would not hurt her. At this thought, Sansa wept with joy as Shae gingerly stroked her hair. _This is real, _she told herself. _This. Is. Real. _

_. . . _

The week flew by and Sansa played all of her parts accordingly. She remained indifferent toward Ser Clegane as he delivered her about the castle, despite his ugly scowls and silent treatment. Her suppers with the Lannisters were fairly uneventful, which Sansa was deeply grateful for. Joffrey wasn't overly thrilled with her, that much was obvious, but he was not hot-tempered either. His mind seemed to be occupied with other matters that Sansa did not wish to inquire about. Cersei asked Sansa dozens of questions about what she'd been busying herself with, and Sansa was ready with the kind of answers she figured the queen wanted to hear: _Oh, I've been studying poetry. I wrote a sonnet. I attended court and watched his grace's rulings for the day. I admired the tapestries in the east wing—they are ever so grand! I walked about the godswood and prayed the war will be over soon. _When Cersei asked why Sansa wanted the war to be over, Sansa already had an answer prepared: _Because I wish to marry my beloved Joffrey as soon as possible. _At this, the king had tilted his head to the side and smiled thinly, giving a very boyish look to his smooth face. Sansa had been the picture of ladylike and had bowed her head, smiling serenely, until she felt his eyes cease to dissect her movements. The queen had nodded her own golden head in approval.

Of course, the truth was that Sansa was praying as hard as she could that her brilliant brother Robb would triumph, that he'd slaughter all of King Joffrey's armies. Then, Sansa had ruminated, he'd appear in King's Landing, valiant and victorious as he always was in the North and he'd slay the few who remained between him and the Iron Throne. Was Joffrey really not the rightful heir of Robert Baratheon? It was something Sansa had given little thought to; she didn't care about the logistics. It had not even crossed her mind, as she could not imagine what this meant. It simply did not matter. She wanted Robb to defeat the Lannisters with all her heart, whether Joffrey was a Baratheon or not. Although Sansa could imagine Robb triumphing over Westeros and usurping King Joffrey, Sansa could not truly picture seeing the Lannisters slain in front of her. She remembered her words to Joffrey so many months ago, when she threatened that Robb would bring her his head—her only retort to Joffrey before he showed her exactly what he'd been waiting to use his new power for. But Sansa had thought about it again and again though in sincerity she did not _want _Joffrey's head. It might please her for one moment, the meaning behind it, but it would make her sick more than anything. She wanted no one's head. She only prayed for her family and freedom.

Lately, Sansa was attempting to find the things about King's Landing that did not make her wish to die. This had been another urging from Shae on the night she'd given Sansa much needed company in her chambers after Joffrey had departed. Sansa had begun to make a list for herself, a list of the good things, and the places and people that kept her strong.

Things and places were easiest. Sansa still enjoyed the release that drawing and sewing allowed her, and she did find distraction in her studies. Her favorite places were limited. She had come to detest most of the castle grounds because they reminded her so much of her father's demise and of Arya's disappearance. She supposed she enjoyed the gardens: the breeze and flickering sunlight could be somewhat comforting in comparison to her quarters and the dusty darkness of the throne room she couldn't help but associate with Joffrey's immense cruelty. But the godswood brought Sansa more comfort than any place in King's Landing. She could clear her head and take in the beautiful scenery while pouring herself into her prayers.

People were even more difficult to list. There was Shae, who topped the list, of course. Sometimes, Sansa would see Ser Dontos, Joffrey's fool, and she was also happy for that. Ser Dontos had been kind to her and had told her he owed her his own life. But Sansa thought that was silly. She had not stepped in to stop Dontos from dying for anything in return. It would have quite horrified her to see the man drown himself in wine. She could count Ser Dontos among the few people she truly liked. Varys, the soft-spoken and extravagantly dressed man on Joffrey's small council, made Sansa feel some unease though he was not unkind. Sometimes she felt he was watching her. She would feel eyes on her back and turn to look, finding herself in Varys' focus. He'd smile slightly and tilt his head respectfully before ducking away. Sansa also had Lord Baelish, her mother's old friend. Sansa quite liked him (if only because he gave her a tiny shred of hope she would see her mother again soon) but his astuteness was a bit unnerving.

If Sansa really stretched her definition of "good", she could include several other people who were related to her captors, though not responsible for Father. Lord Tyrion was polite to her, for a Lannister. Tommen also brought Sansa cheerfulness. He was a kind-hearted boy but timid around his mother and Joffrey, which made Sansa's heart twist in a knot. Cersei said despicable things to him, seemingly taking joy in remarking upon what she considered babyish behavior and weakness. She was constantly comparing him to Joffrey who would smirk intensely anytime the subject came up. Why, the other night, Cersei had even scoffed that it was fortunate Tommen was not king for it would be mortifying to have a ruler who had only recently stopped "wetting himself." Cersei and Joffrey had enjoyed a good laugh at that while Tommen sat silently staring at his plate. Sansa went out of her way to be kind to Tommen. After all, she could not imagine someone saying such things to Bran, who was around the same age.

"Are you _really _going to marry Joffy?" Tommen asked Sansa the following day. He'd located her in the garden where she was sketching the winding roses, as his nursemaid sat stitching across the walkway. She admired the crimson color but couldn't help wondering if when Joffrey looked at them he thought of blood.

Sansa set her artwork down, thankful for agreeable company. "Yes," she said and put on the placid smile she'd perfected for the queen regent, one reminiscent of Cersei's own expression. "I will marry King Joffrey as soon as the war is all done—"

"What will happen to you after?" Tommen wanted to know, and inspected Sansa's painting brush with curious eyes that lacked the severity of his brother and mother's gaze. "May I see?"

"What do you mean?" Sansa asked softly, flipping the pages of parchment for the curly-haired little prince to look at her drawings. He admired them loudly, making Sansa laugh happily. Tommen was a little boy but he was kind and friendly. Sansa did not care what the queen said about him. She'd rather her betrothal had been to Prince Tommen in a heartbeat though she expected it would be a much different sort of union indeed. Sansa had long wished for a handsome husband, but at least Tommen had the potential to grow into a good man, and that was far better than Joffrey. Despite her strange new relationship to Joffrey, Sansa was trying hard to hold onto the truth.

Tommen ran a finger carefully over the outline of Sansa's depiction of the throne room, all chalky blacks and jagged lines. "Is he going to hurt you?" he asked matter-of-factly.

Sansa blanched and gathered her drawing utensils back into her lap. "He wouldn't hurt me," she said stiffly, doing a quick visual sweep of the courtyard. She was never confident she was alone; someone's eyes were always on her. "He's very good to me and I love him with all my heart." _He is like Ser Tomas. Or Prince Urik—he rode horseback straight up a tower to save his Lady Amelia. Yes, when Joffrey marries me, I pray he will change. He'll be more like our last night alone together, and less like a grotesque beast. _

"I love my Joffy, too," said Tommen earnestly, "but he usually hates me!" He shrugged. "He only says he loves me when my septa is there. Or Mother. And even _then_ sometimes he calls me names."

Smoothing her skirts, Sansa tried to decide how to approach this subject in the most diplomatic way possible. "Sometimes brothers fight. I know, because mine did _all _the time. And I don't only have one brother. I have four. And Theon—he is practically the same as a brother. He teases me enough to be one."

"Four brothers?" Tommen asked, an eager tone to his high, sweet voice. "My!"

"Yes, four. And Jon and Robb often argued but I always knew they did not hate each other. When you are older, you and Joffrey may get on quite well. You'll see," she smiled, trying to believe this, for Tommen's sake. _At least when I am queen, Tommen will have me. I will not be able to do much for him, but I will be there._

"Maybe," said Tommen a bit wistfully. "It's all so different now that he's the King. He doesn't come to lessons with me anymore, and Myrcella and me got a new septa. Before Myrcella had to go away, that is. I do not see him as much though sometimes that's not so bad." He paused, looking up to Sansa as if he'd said something wrong. "But I still love him!" he put in quickly.

"Of course you do," Sansa said gently, thinking what a good boy Tommen was, and how much strife Joffrey must have put him through. At least the worst Robb and Jon ever did was squall and, very rarely, come to blows. They were two young men, matched in combat. Tommen was absolutely no match for his older brother.

"I am glad, though, that he does not wake me up anymore," Tommen went on, lowering his voice and still tracing along Sansa's drawing. Sansa flipped the parchment to show him an illustration of Death's Door, pawing at the ground, his black mane flowing in the wind. "Ooh, I like this one! You did well! You did very well, Lady Sansa!"

"Then it is yours, Prince Tommen," she said. "You can have it." The prince's plump face brightened as she handed over the drawing and he clutched it to his heart. Sansa turned to the next parchment, one of a great bouquet of roses with doves all around it. "Why did Joffrey wake you up?" she asked.

"To play games with him in the dark," Tommen responded offhandedly, still admiring the sketch of Joffrey's stallion. Sansa's gaze flicked to Tommen's septa, who was still sewing and paying them no mind at all.

Sansa was about to ask what kinds of games Tommen was referring to, when a noisy voice cut the quiet:

"Faster, Dog! I'm going to test this on the first enemy I see! Stannis won't stand a chance! Ha!"

"Joffy!" Tommen exclaimed, and Sansa was bemused by the actual joy in his voice.

Joffrey jumped into the walkway, Ser Clegane on his heels. The king was brandishing a handsome hunting knife with a gold hilt. He swung it carelessly to and fro in the air, and Tommen's septa nervously stashed away her sewing. "Oh, look, Dog! Good! _Three _enemies!" shouted Joffrey merrily, and swished the knife. His tone was merry and he wore a happy grin instead of a sneer, for once.

"Two ladies and a babe," grumbled Clegane with a wry smile. "Some enemies indeed, my king."

"I suppose you're right!" Joffrey said agreeably, and Sansa wondered what it was that had him in such a fantastic mood. Still, she couldn't expect it to last long so she'd certainly enjoy the moment while it lasted. "You'll all be lucky I'm around when Stannis invades! I'll save each of you!"

"Indeed you will, your grace," said the septa, still fretfully eyeing the blade.

Sansa stared, wondering exactly what Joffrey was on about. She'd heard the name Stannis Baratheon thrown about, knew it was Robert's brother they were speaking of, but she hadn't known he was thinking of invading. "Invading where?" she asked tentatively.

Joffrey's eyes looked wide with excitement, and he puffed out his chest. "Oh, you hadn't heard!" He practically skipped toward them and shoved Tommen aside to sit beside Sansa. She tried to ignore the fact that his scent set her legs to wobbling and instead tried to focus on his words. "Stannis sails in as we speak. He thinks he's going to overthrow my reign! He's jealous, you see! What he does not know is I will stick him, just as someone did my Uncle Renly!" Joffrey made a jabbing motion with the knife and laughed. "I'd knight the hero who did that deed!"

"Renly was a coward," barked the Hound, shaking his head. "You might as well knight a sheep."

Joffrey burst into slightly manic giggles, jabbing the knife in midair even still.

"But what's to happen?" Sansa pressed, her tension rising a bit. "What will Stannis do?"

"He'll try to throw me off the throne. He wants to be the king, but I'm the king! He wants to take over the castle but I won't let him!" Joffrey said, a hint of snappishness springing into his voice. "I'll cut him!" Joffrey said, and made like he was going to impale his blade into Tommen's brain.

"Oh, please be careful!" Sansa exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hands. _Stupid! Stupid! _

Joffrey's eyes flashed. "What?" he snapped acidly, and his teeth looked sharp and bright in the sunlight. _Monster. _

"It's just—he's a little boy," Sansa said, attempting to sound relaxed. "You don't wish to hurt him." Suddenly, she got an odd feeling, almost a flash of what the future might be like with the king. She could imagine this scene playing out exactly the same in a few years, except with Sansa defending their children from Joffrey. It was such a profound vision that Sansa felt weak with the weight of it.

"No, but I _will _cut Stannis. Here." Joffrey very lightly touched the tip of his knife to Sansa's throat. "And here, too," he said in a low mutter, the very voice he used in the candlelight in her chambers, making a motion of sawing at her stomach. "Until all of his guts spill out."

Sansa set her jaw. She had some faith Joffrey wouldn't really kill her; she wasn't certain he was capable of it, but felt her heart race all the same Tommen looked straight ahead, not making any movement and the septa stared down at the ground, feigning interest in the cobblestones. Ser Clegane rolled his eyes and strode forward.

"I thought you were done with picking birds apart. Let this one fly away," he said gruffly. "You can test your new knife on far more satisfying targets than sparrows who can't even chirp." He raised his eyebrows at Sansa. She reddened at the obvious insult and pressed her legs together tighter but was relieved when Joffrey removed the blade from her skin.

"My Hound is correct. Mother gave me permission to take a short hunting trip. When I return I'll be ready to slit a hundred throats!" he announced, sounding upbeat again. He leapt off the little stone wall and in one move, he thrust his knife across the plants and knocked the heads off a assemblage of roses. "Like that!" he shouted. Sansa felt on the verge of tears, watching Joffrey destroy beauty in such a way.

Ser Clegane let out his signature wheezing guffaw. "I was told by the queen regent you would be hunting, not gardening."

"Gardening! Ha ha ha!" Joffrey erupted into loud laughter. "Good one, Dog." He threw Sansa a last look-over before bounding down the walkway, destroying all the roses he could manage.

. . .

Fast asleep, Sansa rolled back and forth under her coverlet with sweat surfacing upon her temple. She was in the midst of a terrible nightmare, one where she was back in the midst of the King's Landing riot. This time there was no one there to save her. Not Ser Clegane and not even King Joffrey. She ran from the men, their hands pawing at the skirts that trailed behind her, greedy and angry. She was screaming but no sound was coming out. _Please, no, no, no, don't! _Finally, the inevitable happened. She was overtaken and slapped, then thrown onto the hard ground and one of the men pulled out a knife. The knife changed in her mind's eye, looking much like Joffrey's new blade, and-

Sansa reared out of her covers, out of breath and gasping for air. She ran her hands through her damp hair, feeling terrified. The light that seeped through the windows of her room felt eerie and much too bright and her legs, her legs felt sticky. At once, she threw the covers off herself and let out a mortified cry.

"No!" she said aloud, for there was a dark blot of blood between her open legs. Her thighs were coated in the red mess and it was spreading; she could tell it had already sunk into the sheets and perhaps even the mattress. "No, no, no!" she whispered, out of bed in a flash. She was trying to cut out the bloody stain out of her bedding as fast as she could when Shae came into her room.

"What's this—" Shae's expression was clouded with confusion until she spied the blood, perking up a bit. "Oh! It's only—"

"No!" Sansa cut her off, her voice a curt hiss. "It means I can bear his _children!_ If we... if we...are together again, I could become... and, I'll be dead, Shae! I'll be dead if I am with child before we are to be wed!"

Shae's face instantly became stoic and she rushed to Sansa's side, and together they worked at pulling the blankets off. Sansa felt even more panicked as it was confirmed that yes, the blood had seeped through into the mattress. _They'll know! They'll know and I'll be wed to Joffrey straight away and it's going to come true, what I thought about Tommen. It's going to happen sooner than I ever thought and I can't do it! I can't! _

"Focus!" Shae urged. "We must find a way to burn this! We'll get rid of it!"

Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa caught a glimpse of another woman, a handmaiden she'd never seen before. She let out a strangled cry, pointing. Shae whipped around.

"I must tell the queen!" the fair-haired woman exclaimed, and turned to run but Shae took off after her. Sansa heard their footsteps clattering down the hall and hoped this might buy her time, that she could hide the evidence she was finally ready to be Joffrey's queen. She'd been hoping, somehow, that she'd get out of her betrothal—Robb was supposed to have won by now! And Stannis was to invade! Perhaps a few weeks more, that was all she needed! She wrenched the blankets off and set to work at the mattress, stabbing at the stain.

"It's no use, little bird. You can stop that now."

Eyes widening, Sansa slowly turned around to see Ser Clegane hovering over her. Her face burned and she couldn't help but burst into tears. "Please, please, please," she murmured in a sob, rocking herself back and forth and trying not to think about the fact that he'd likely seen the blood, seen the stains on her legs. Somehow that was worse than the fact she'd very obviously been planning to tell a huge lie to the Lannisters.

"There are some tasks a Dog takes no pleasure in. Try to know that, girl," Clegane said, and his voice was neither dry nor sullen. On the contrary, it was quiet and dismal and may have comforted Sansa if it weren't him. But it was him, it was Joffrey's firsthand guard, and so Sansa wept quietly into her hands until the Dog made her get up, his gnarled hand remarkably soft on her shoulder. It was time to tell Queen Cersei about the news.


	15. Inner Workings

**Warning:** Blood, and dead animals. If you've read the books, you know Joffrey's twisted in ways the show did not portray (thankfully?). I was slightly uncomfortable writing it, as I have a big phobia against people killing animals (particularly cats) but this was important to show Joffrey's mind. *grimace* I told my gf if I'm going to write from Joff's twisted POV, I have to go full-on Joff. This story needs to be true to the character and that includes all of the character.

Chapter Fifteen: _Inner Workings_

* * *

_.._

JOFFREY

_.._

"Let's to the castle, quickly! I want very much to use my new knife!" Joffrey said enthusiastically, as he knelt before the carcass of the doe he'd just shot down using only three arrows.

Clegane chuckled. "I thought you were searching for a name. Just calling it a knife? Good. I can't stand for cunts who go naming their swords. Imagine how foolish you'd look waving around a wee hunting knife with some grand title—"

Joffrey let out a loud snort. "Not me," he scoffed. "Only a grand weapon deserves a grand name!" He had, in fact, been thinking of a name for the new hunting knife but the Hound was right. It would sound rather stupid. Even though Joffrey did not care much for what others thought, Ser Clegane knew a great deal about fighting, killing and being a man. Joffrey did not want to do anything to seem boyish or weak around his Dog, servant or not. He very carefully removed the arrows and cleaned them meticulously with a cloth from the satchel that Meryn held out steadily before him. He'd brought along Meryn and Clegane to attend to him during the hunt and it had been a splendid adventure. They had not traveled too far, only about three hours out on horseback, though still a very agreeable trip. It was good to be in the company of men and men only. Women had only helped in confusing or angering Joffrey as of late.

Mother had been especially annoying after delivering the news of Stannis' impending invasion. She'd been doting and teary-eyed for days, and had begun to deliver very unhelpful, depressing bits of advice for him. Joffrey wanted to stuff something in her mouth to stop her from speaking. And the situation with Sansa was on his mind more than he'd like to admit. He felt their last sex had been an improvement over the first time, and though he was determined to try again he did not want to appear too eager. It had also been a bit jolting that bedding Sansa had reminded Joffrey distinctly of her, the girl (_or was it girls?_) he sometimes heard in his head or saw in the blackness when he was trying to sleep. He did not know what to make of these thoughts and so he shut them out.

He also had not heard any evidence that Sansa's handmaiden had squealed on them. Likely, Sansa had either denied their relations or explained how sweet Joffrey had been to her, how he'd saved her life. Joffrey did not want Mother knowing about his sexual life, but he was slightly disappointed Sansa's maid had apparently stayed silent for he very much wished to punish her. She'd been very pretty and Joffrey could perfectly imagine her gagged and then bound with ropes to the posters of his bed, her wide eyes gleaming in the soft candlelight. Perhaps with Sansa standing in front of her hanging form, ready with his new knife, ready to tease the hole between her traitorous handmaiden's legs while he watched.

It was time for Joffrey to face the truth: Sansa was his betrothed and the war would likely be done. That combined with the interesting information Mother had relayed to him, that Sansa had truly become a woman, was weighing heavily on him. He knew if he did wish to fuck Sansa again prior to their wedding, he would need to be much more careful. However, he was not quite certain _how _he'd be more careful. He'd never been well versed in the ways of sex and even now that he'd done it, twice, he was still a bit mystified. If Sansa got pregnant with his child before they were to be wed, he could lie and say another man had fucked her. He could pin it on anyone, really—anyone he pleased, anyone he wanted to be disposed of. No one would dispute him and Sansa would likely be thrown out of his kingdom and killed, along with their bastard baby. He wanted to tell himself he did not care one way or the other, but Joffrey was even more torn about Sansa then he had been before having her. He still wasn't looking forward to marrying Sansa Stark but he had to admit he did not want her dead.

Joffrey had much on his mind, and the hunting trip had done well to settle him. Being in the company of the Hound often eased Joffrey's mood, even when the Hound's behavior had been somewhat suspicious lately. Killing things also put Joffrey in a much happier way. He had slain three hares, a large pheasant, and now, the beautiful young doe that lay glassy-eyed before him. Though, truth be told, the Hound _had _helped a bit with the doe. Still, it was Joffrey who had shot her down. The Hound had merely directed his aim, and had told him where to shoot to bring her down more swiftly. "I am going to skin her hide off and have a cloak made, and when I triumph over Stannis I will do the same to him and all of his men! But I'll skin _them_ alive! You'll see, Dog!" He gave the Hound a victorious smile.

"Will I?" questioned the Hound wryly, and Joffrey nodded, nose held high. "I thought her grace the queen regent wished for you to stay back from the battle. She said you would be safer within the castle walls. I think she fears Stannis will send you back to her in pieces, your grace—"

"No, no, no," Joffrey scoffed, rolling his eyes. He carefully placed the clean arrows back with his hunting tools and quickly turned back to the carcass of the deer. "Mother knows nothing about battles. She has silly ideas and only said that because she still thinks of me as her precious child—"

"You are rather precious, indeed, your grace," the Hound said gruffly and Joffrey laughed. "But in truth, it surprises me you would wish yourself upon the battlefield. Look how spotless you've stayed throughout these past hours. You may not want to be fighting when you see what war means, your grace. You may dirty your boots-"

"I don't care _so_ much about cleanliness," Joffrey lied, "and besides, I know what war means! It means I get to kill Stannis! I told Uncle Tyrion what I shall do to him when I get him! I will greet him right on the bay, and I will give him a red smile!" Joffrey made a swiping motion inches in front of his own face with the knife. Meryn and the Hound stared at him. "Get it? Because they say he never smiles. Get it? A _red smile!"_

The Hound gave a deep laugh and Meryn followed suit. "That I'd like to see," grunted Joffrey's Dog with a grin.

Joffrey nodded, pleased that Clegane was impressed by his remark. Tyrion never understood the brilliance of Joffrey's wit, but then again Tyrion knew nothing of battles. Lately, Joffrey had done his best to stay away from Tyrion, for his uncle was constantly commenting about Joffrey's lack of courage. This only made Joffrey smirk, for Tyrion was a weak dwarf who could only drink buckets of wine and sleep with the loosest of women. Apparently, Tyrion had attempted to fight against Robb Stark's armies—what a joke that must have been! Mother said Tyrion was knocked out cold, and she and Joffrey had both agreed that they had missed out on a great opportunity to laugh at his foolish attempts at battle.  
Mother had reminded Joffrey whenever Uncle Tyrion would wound his ego that he was simply a coward who hid behind books.

On the contrary, Joffrey knew he was like his own father: a brutal warrior! He did not think of his late father very often. He'd driven Robert Baratheon's death out of his mind as he did so many other unpleasant things. Mother said that forgetting was the only way to move on. When he did think of his father, he wished he'd been allowed more time with him. Joffrey had often vied for his company, but when his father had any free time at all it was likely he'd be in bed with one (or more) of his many whores or else out with his men on hunts. Or, in the earlier days of Joffrey's childhood, he'd be out, fighting on the field with his knights. Joffrey would have done anything for Father to allow him to come along, but he always said he had no room for him. Joffrey would stay back at the castle with Mother, who seemed just as thrilled by Robert's dismissive behavior as he was. But unlike Mother, Joffrey forgave his Father and understood that kings were busy. Still, he wished he could have known Father more, wished he could have gotten his affection.

That was why Joffrey was so eager for Stannis to arrive. This would prove to everyone he was just as much of a fighter as Robert had been! Though he had the tiniest fear of being overtaken, Joffrey knew this would not occur. He was fantastic with a blade and with his crossbow—what could happen? He could not wait for the fighting because he knew he'd be good at it; he was great at slaying animals, so how different could it be to kill a man? He'd imagined it countless times. He thought about the feeling of his sword slicing into the stomach of an enemy and how it would feel to spill all of his guts onto the ground, to watch the light leak out of the pupils of his eyes before he dropped down and died at Joffrey's feet. Or the thrill of loading an arrow into his crossbow, pumping the crank and letting it fly into someone's heart. Or better yet, right in their brain. _But Mother said if I do go to battle, I shan't bring my crossbow. She says it takes too long to load and that it's far too dangerous. She really did not need to cry. I'm not a boy anymore. I'm a man and I'm king, and a king must defend his kingdom! Stannis is an old idiot who will be easy enough to defeat and Mother said there's absolutely no chance we'll be bested. I have more men than Stannis, and I'm not afraid! Not in the least. I cannot die. I'm the king. _As the Hound lifted up the doe and tossed her over his shoulder and they made the trek back to their horses, Joffrey went on in a loud voice. "I told Mother not to be worried. I'll have my Kingsgaurd. You'll all be there when I triumph!"

"Yes, your grace," Meryn said with a brisk nod. "We will indeed. I hope to bloody more than just a few of those traitors who dare dispute your right to the throne!"

"Bloody? You are another to talk," the Hound declared. "I will rip Stannis' heart out through his chest and then feed it to him—"

Meryn looked tense but said nothing as Joffrey dissolved into laughter and clapped his gloved hands. "Yes, yes, Dog! You do that and you'll be rewarded greatly—"

"I need no reward," grunted the Hound, the doe's legs flopping to and fro. "I look forward to slaying them. Though most of the boys fighting alongside me will be dead in seconds. They know nothing of combat. Do you know Lancel's got it in his head he's going to fight? That's a joke, that is—"

Meryn grinned. "That pretty hair will be no use to him when his head gets lopped off—"

Joffrey laughed loudly, though he was certain Mother wouldn't like to hear his men were speaking ill of a Lannister, even if it was obnoxious Lancel.

"I have half a mind to do it myself," the Hound said through gritted teeth. "Half these cowards will soil themselves the moment they see the first ripple from Stannis' fleet!"

"My mother says Stannis will be lucky to have an army of ten men," Joffrey put in smugly, heart pounding with the excitement of the conversation. He felt important and grown-up. "We had a good laugh about it—"

"I thought you said her grace knew nothing of war," the Hound said, raising his eyebrow.

"She doesn't," Joffrey said instantly. "It was a joke—"

"Do you argue with the king, Clegane?" Meryn asked combatively, hand on his sword.

Clegane snorted loudly. "Rest easily, _Ser. _I've known the king since he was a boy. He knows I jest, and if I should anger him, no doubt he'll see fit to tell me himself. King Joffrey and I speak man to man, something you may not be so used to, Meryn."

Joffrey nodded, swelling with pride at the Hound's words. "Yes, my Dog means no harm. And I'd do well to inflict my own punishment on him if need be, so you can rest easily and stand down, Meryn," he went on, waving his hand.

"Of course, his grace is likely focused on more than simply warfare. The queen regent _did _pass along that the Stark girl is now a woman. Did she not?" inquired the Hound, and Joffrey noticed he gave a longer scan of Joffrey's expression than usual.

"Oh, yes," Joffrey declared, "we're to be married as soon as the war is over. I can't say I'm looking forward to it, but I made a sacred vow. And Lady Sansa is rather attractive." He smiled thinly, and looked back. "You think so too, do you not, Meryn?"

Meryn gave a short nod. "I do not notice my king's lady so much, but I will say she is very appealing. No offense—"

"None taken. I like when others notice what's mine," grinned Joffrey cockily. "You liked beating her, for me, too, I assume?"

"I did not feel one way or the other. It was my duty and I was obliged to act out your orders, my king—"

"And you enjoyed watching, too, didn't you, Dog?"

"Yes, your grace," replied the Hound dutifully. "It pleases me to see the king's justice enacted."

"Shame it wasn't me," Joffrey went on, watching his Dog all the time, "I would have enjoyed it greatly. Of course, it would have been far more exciting if she had been fully naked. Of course, I did like whipping her with the crop. That was a good day, wasn't it?"

"Perhaps once you consummate your marriage, you'll care less for beatings with arrows and swords, and more for pleasing her with your _own_ weapon," Clegane said in a dry voice. "You may find it quite enjoyable, your grace. Your bedding will indeed make you a man."

"I am a man!" Joffrey snapped without thinking. "As it is, I know already that I enjoy doing both—" he went on loudly and then stopped as the Hound turned to give him a brisk look over. _Curse this! No one knows I have been intimate! What if my Dog informs Mother? He would not, would he? He wouldn't dare! I must think of something, and fast!_

The Hound looked ahead once more, brush crackling at his feet as they all hurried onward. "I had wondered, your grace. So, Lady Stark—"

"_Not _with Sansa," Joffrey lied at once, and looked from the Hound to Meryn in a quick swoop. Meryn was avoiding eye contact, focusing straight ahead with the hares swinging listlessly in his grasp. "The whores on my Name Day, Dog. Surely you recall. You saw the red-haired one drag the other out by her feet. Did you not?" He forced out a cold snicker.

"I did," Clegane nodded, but Joffrey heard a twinge of skepticism in his tone. Still, he spoke respectfully even when he was gruff. "I had to carry the girl to your uncle's chambers myself, if _you'll_ recall, your grace. The other girl was crying too hard to do it—"

"Yes," Joffrey said with a quick nod, already visualizing the scene of himself fucking the two whores so clearly it was hard to believe it had not occurred. He'd thought about it before, alone in his chambers. He could see himself forcing the redhead to use her mouth on the other before he grabbed her by the throat and stuck himself inside her. Next he'd take the dark-haired girl from behind as she screamed and squalled from the soreness. He made certain to speak with a firm tone, one that did not invoke disbelief. "Yes, I thought you knew I had—"

"I assumed you only played with them, your grace. The black haired whore's arse was covered in black and blue bruises the size of shields. What did you do, smack her around with your cock?"

"I had the other beat her and then I fucked her," said Joffrey plainly, with a smug smile. "After I was done fucking her, I fucked the other—"

"A job well done, your grace," congratulated Meryn, as if Joffrey had just detailed how he'd shot down his kills. Joffrey threw him a proud look.

"While the black haired girl was out cold?" questioned the Hound. "It seemed to me you got rid of them fairly quickly. As I'm sure you remember, I was guarding your door—"

Joffrey's voice rose as he replied: "Of course I remember! You heard the wailing, I expect?"

"Yes, your grace," the Hound said. "The wailing I did hear. I am surprised you did not boast to me straight away. You've been keeping this inside for some time. You usually burst at the seams with good news-"

"Yes, well, you know my mother," Joffrey put in, his speed of delivery quickening. "Always asking questions. She'd likely be quite upset if she knew I'd used them in that way. She doesn't think too highly of prostitutes. She was quite angry with my Uncle Imp for sending them—"

"Which was your favorite, your grace? If I may ask," said the Hound gruffly.

Joffrey bit his lip, deciding how much he should say, how far to drag this story out. He wanted it to be believable. After all, there was a chance that Clegane suspected something was off, which would certainly explain the relentless questions. _I cannot risk anyone knowing, even if the Dog won't tell. It seems unlikely he would, but then again his behavior toward Sansa is quite out of the ordinary. Perhaps he is jealous! If he wants her for himself, I'll soon know. But now, I must act as though I am none the wiser._

"The girl with dark hair," Joffrey said after some consideration, remembering the girl's excited face as the redhead had licked the space between her legs. "I liked her smile, and how quickly it faded when she was slapped by the other. She looked so innocent, so scared. Her cries were real—I could really hear the fear in her voice," he said quietly, feeling a bit excited by the memory. _Use what you know, _he urged himself. Joffrey noticed that Clegane slowed down to a creeping pace as he listened. His thoughts moved back to Sansa and how she'd cried while being stripped and beaten, then later how he'd ridden her and bitten her shoulder and neck while she shrieked in the candlelight. Her gorgeous Tully hair shining as he pulled it, her lips parted as she pleaded with him. Her wide, frightened eyes as he went in and out of her, faster and faster. "Her cunt was tight. Tighter than I expected. And wet to the touch. When I spoke into her ear, I felt her wiggle, like she really enjoyed the feeling. I think myself quite skilled."

"It sounds very well, your grace," said the Hound agreeably, "though perhaps next time you should be a bit more lenient with the beatings. I may not always be there to carry your women from place to place!"

Joffrey laughed. "I'll do to them what I please, no matter where you are." Clegane looked back at Joffrey for a brief moment, and Joffrey gave him a very wide grin. They had reached the horses, and so it was time to descend back to King's Landing. A very thick silence followed that Joffrey enjoyed. It was clear his men believed him. They knew he was not a virgin, and he could feel their respect for him rise as high as the creeping trees.

. . .

Joffrey was satisfied with the short hunting trip, and he felt he'd successfully swayed his Dog from questioning him any further. He figured that Clegane knew better than to get in his personal affairs, even if he did have some sort of lust for Sansa. _Poor ugly Dog, _he thought with a faint smile, beginning to slice away at the doe's front haunches. _I like him enough that I shouldn't like us to clash, especially over an issue as stupid as the Stark girl._ The blade was exceptionally sharp, just as Joffrey demanded all of his weapons to be, and it was nearly an effortless exercise to clip the hooves. With his old knife, this process had taken so much longer. This time, the knife dove into the elbow flesh cleanly and he was able to snap the legs off at their joints almost at once. He relished the sound of cracking bone with a satisfied shiver. He cast the torn leg pieces aside with the organs he'd removed minutes before, being very careful to resist bloodying his sleeves as he did so.

Joffrey tugged on his gloves as he did every few minutes, making certain they were in place, and brought the knife to the doe's ear where he carefully sawed into her tender tissue. _Sansa is mine, no matter how disgusted she makes me. No matter how little I might feel for her. She's mine and no other man will touch her, _he thought, and cut around slowly, breaking open the skin around the deer's neck. He licked his lips, his eyebrows flexing as he worked. He tugged on his gloves again, and wiped them on the cloth beside him. There were others who could do this for him. Father enjoyed the hunt and did not dress his kills after becoming king, pleased enough with the sport. But Joffrey liked attending to the carcasses nearly as much, if not more. He worried that someone else wouldn't be so fond of splitting off the skin, of letting the organs and blood spill and pool, of cracking off ligaments. Others did not work in the meticulous way Joffrey did. There was a craft in knife work, and a talent in appreciating the magnificence of what dwelled inside of dead things.

Of course, Joffrey hadn't always been so careful. These things take time. His curiosity for the inner workings of living animals was once a hasty thing. At age seven, he'd hacked off the head of a pigeon without a second thought, only invested in the reward of seeing the tiny arteries, the small spurt of blood, and playing with the slack-jawed beak. He'd remembered this very clearly, because Father hadn't liked it so much. _"What kind of boy cuts down birds with brains the size of a corn kernel? I got you that handsome sword to spar, to fight! You use it to kill a bird so stupid it's a regular in pies and pastries?" _Joffrey had recalled his father's booming laugh, ringing in his ears, and how he'd realized that Robert was right. It _was _quite stupid to behead a pigeon, a bird notorious for being easy to catch.

Joffrey ran the blade down the length of the doe's body and pulled up carefully at the velvety fur that held the skin on fast. The sound of soft squelching, of flesh and skin peeling, was nearly erotic in itself. He paused to pull up his gloves and wiped the knife, admiring the crimson that stained the cloth.

_Cats, though. Cats were not so easy to catch._ Joffrey had though, at age eight—he'd caught one he'd heard was pregnant and had carefully split her open to see her insides. It had been a delight that the rumors were true, and the unborn kittens had looked so interesting, so tiny, in their dead mother's womb. Tommen's reaction, all blotchy babyish tears, had been hysterical. Myrcella had shrieked and run off. Thrilled with himself, he'd shown his father he was far better than the prior assumption. Not only had he done better than a pigeon, he'd also done quite well with the handiwork of his sword. _"See what I did! See, Father?" _Joffrey had shouted excitedly, one of the dead babies in his outstretched gloved hand. But surprisingly, his father had not been impressed in the least. Joffrey couldn't quite remember what had happened, only that his mouth had hurt a great deal and that blood had pulsed, thick and hot, from his lips and stained his favorite tunic. And Mother's high-pitched screams at his father (_"Honest to Gods, Robert! You could have really hurt him! And for what? For what, Robert? Some foolish business with a cat?!")_—he remembered that, too. His jaw had been wrapped up in cloths and attended to, and Cersei had cradled him in her arms for a very long time. But Joffrey did not blame his father for whatever had transpired between them. Cats were far more impressive than pigeons, but he could do so, so much better.

. . .

Joffrey had awoken the next morning with only one thing on his mind: He wanted to show Sansa the fantastic job he'd done slaying the doe, and he looked forward to giving her all the details of his hunt. He knew she would be very impressed by the slick way he'd dressed her, and perhaps Sansa would even want a piece of the glory. Joffrey would happily gift her the head of the doe to decorate her room, or perhaps even have a cloak made for her with the hide. Sansa was enthralled with heroes in stories; imagine her excitement when she saw proof her betrothed was as skilled a hunter as those myths she loved so very much. He went to her chambers first, but found them empty. She was not taking lessons or sewing.

Joffrey practically skipped out to the gardens to look for her there and when he spied red shining hair and a glimpse of deep blue skirts near the rose garden he nearly shouted out. Then, he heard a rasping familiar voice and realized that his bride-to-be was not alone. Beside her stood Clegane and they were shadowed by a hulking tree just beyond the garden gates, whispering together. Joffrey quickly slid behind a large statue, obstructing himself completely from view and straining his ears to listen to their words. At once, a dizzy sort of feeling twisted inside of him.

"The king made it sound as such, and though you have made it clear that your fear of my face impedes your judgment I wanted to see if there was truth in the matter. He says he bedded two whores on his Name Day but I stood outside his door the whole time and thus heard what went on inside. It did not sound like anyone was bedded, but he speaks like he knows what he talks about." The hound lowered his voice and Joffrey had to focus hard to hear him. "For once." Joffrey's chest panged. _But that was what happened! That's what I said, at least, and so he should believe that is what occurred! _

"My king can do what he likes," Sansa said stiffly. "I have no idea why you summoned for me."

"I'm not here for you to chirp at me, little bird," snapped Clegane and Joffrey bristled at the tone. _No one can speak to Sansa that way, _he thought angrily, heart thumping harder still. "Now, I've seen him steal to your chambers at night, and I've seen the way you two have been carrying on. Has he touched you?"

"My Joffrey has kissed me and nothing more," said Sansa in a dutiful way. Joffrey knew she was obeying his orders but he almost wanted her to say, '_Yes! Yes, he has touched me. He has bedded me and I am his.' _

"You covered your neck with ribbons. You watch him with something different, something not unlike when I met you in Winterfell and you stammered at him as though you'd never seen anything with a cock in your life. So tell me, has he fucked you or just beaten you for fun—"

"_Ser! _I am a _lady—"_

"And I am a Dog! Not a Ser! I am the king's sworn shield and I am loyal to him. I battle for him and I protect him. But while some men blindly protect him, I've seen too much. The king has certain tastes and the king has hobbies. Hobbies that would make a bird fall down dead in fright if she knew. I can look out for you, as you are my future queen. You need not say a word. You may only nod."

Joffrey's entire body shook with both rage and deep, deep dejection. Clegane was _his Dog_, just as he'd said! And here he was, speaking in ways that Joffrey did not approve of, ways that made it sound like he did not stand by Joffrey! Not only was this traitorous and against the realm, but it was disturbing. The Hound was not _only _Joffrey's sworn shield. He was Joffrey's closest friend and ally, who had been there with Joffrey since he could remember! This was slander.

Joffrey fought back tears of utmost fury and, despite his desire to charge over there and tear Sansa away from the Hound, he waited for a sign that Sansa believed in him. She _had _to.

There was a pregnant pause, and then the Hound gave a great scoff of a laugh. "You have nothing in your brain except those damned songs you hold onto!" he said loudly. "Let us hope your head stays pretty. I should hate to be the poor bastard assigned to whacking it off your neck." At the sound of pounding footsteps, Joffrey hid back behind the statue. He heard the Dog pass him, and realized his hands hurt from clenching his knuckles.

_The Hound insults Lady Sansa and thinks he can get away with it? Threatening the future queen is a crime! And Sansa should know better than to meet with my Hound out of my presence. It is indecent for a lady to be alone with a man she does not belong to, _thought Joffrey, and he suddenly seethed about that, too. It was all infuriating, the entire situation! But Joffrey could not show how angry he was. Not yet.

As soon as he heard Sansa's careful footsteps coming up the path, he put on a very sweet smile. "Lady Sansa!" he called out. "I have been looking for you. May I have a word?"


	16. Sometimes They Hurt

Chapter Sixteen: _Sometimes They Hurt_

..

SANSA

..

Sansa had been reading in the warm sunlight when she'd heard Ser Clegane approach. She knew the sound of his clinking armor quite well by now, and while she did not dread seeing him as much as others she always got a nauseous feeling to hear his footfalls. It meant King Joffrey was not far. However, Joffrey was absolutely nowhere to be seen. When Clegane had hoarsely requested she follow him in a quiet tone that did not suit his hulking frame, Sansa had felt nothing but dread and stayed rooted to the garden wall. _What does he want with me? What more can he do? He already brought me to Queen Cersei after I tried to hide my first blood. Does he mean to embarrass me further? _

The conversation with the queen regent had been awkward and foreboding. Sansa had blushed the entire time, both because of the subject matter and the fact that she'd been intimate, twice now, with King Joffrey. Cersei's scrutinizing eyes had stayed on Sansa's face, keen as a hawk, but Sansa was completely sure the queen had absolutely no idea. The entire time, Sansa had wished it was her own mother offering her reassurance about her first period. Instead of kind words and hugs, Cersei had offered Sansa nothing but further trepidation for her future as Joffrey's wife. Sansa had felt sympathy for the queen, though. It seemed unfair that she should be alone giving birth while the late Robert was out on hunting trips. At least she had her brother by her side, but a brother was not the same as a husband! Sansa had always supposed the father of her children would be by her side at every important moment. She imagined that during her own birthing, he'd be offering her encouragement and peace of mind. Cersei was correct, though. Sansa knew Joffrey would not be there for her. _Except, _she'd thought to herself as the queen regent spoke, _perhaps he _would_ stay by my side. To see all the blood, that is. _

"Come quickly, girl, or not at all," said Clegane in a sharp voice that finally made Sansa move, for she heard urgency in it. She followed him past the garden wall, past the rose garden and when he took a step behind the winding tree in the middle of the yard, Sansa hesitated. She did not like the way it felt to be alone with Joffrey's dog. It seemed wrong, and he was always mocking her or laughing at her habits. Today, he was not laughing. He stared at her intensely, his eyes narrowed.

"Do you remain a maid?" he demanded in a snarl.

Sansa was not certain whether she was more affected by the question, or the Hound's angry tone, almost as though he was ready to pick a fight with her. "I don't—I don't know what you mean," she sputtered.

"The king has had relations. That much is clear. And I have seen the signs. So tell me, little bird. Has he had you, or not?" Clegane's tone was softer now but he still glared down at her as though she'd wronged him personally. Why did he care? It was beginning to seem that he was attempting to help her, though Sansa had no idea why he'd want to do that. Was this just another thing he was going to pass on to the queen regent? She'd even tried to thank him for saving her during the riot a few days back and he'd merely glowered at her, and had gone on about how sweet killing was. He'd also implied Joffrey would do worse to her than she'd seen. It was absolutely clear to Sansa that the Hound thought she was a joke. Still, she was not entirely certain what his motives were.

"Yes, I am a maid," Sansa whispered, running her hand up the gnarled bark of the tree. "I am waiting patiently for my marriage to his grace—"

"Has the king committed rape on you, girl?" asked Clegane, and Sansa tried not to look at the distracting burns, the glint of red skin and craterous pours that traveled up the side of his face like a bloody mold.

_What does it matter? Joffrey can have me when he wants and though the first times he touched me I was not ready for him, the last time I took him willingly. If what Joffrey is doing is bad, then I'm just as bad. I think impurely when I see him now. I very much do want to kiss him again, though not the boy who had my father's head chopped off. I want the boy from my dreams, the one I was promised. And Joffrey is like that, sometimes. Sometimes his touches are tender and sometimes they hurt. _

"I am trying to help you, girl, don't you see!" Clegane said, and he threw up his massive hands. There was such an exasperated sound to his tone that Sansa had the terrible feeling he wasn't really _asking _her if she was a maid. It seemed he already knew she was not one.

She lowered her head, feeling her body begin to shake. "I still do not know why you are asking," she said in a low voice, trying to keep composure. "Yes, I am a maid. Yes, I am loyal to Joffrey. And no, he has not done anything to me—"

"Aside from ordering you stripped and smacked? Aside from smacking you with a riding crop?"

"I disobeyed him," Sansa said instantly, meeting the Hound's dark eyes once more. "He taught me a lesson!"

Clegane snorted and lowered his voice. It reminded Sansa of gritty bits of rock, or a sword being dragged on a marble floor. "Which is why I question you so. Joffrey has bedded a girl of some sort. I've known the boy for years and I've heard how he talks about women. His tune changed, little bird. Virgin boys seldom speak so boldly of the sensation of a tight and wet cunt—the young king used to balk at the talk of cunts. He used to nearly fain at the word! Not so long ago, he said he'd never like one as long as he lived. It used to be quite funny to get a rise out of him by reminding him of his impending duties as a king! But way he spoke about this bedding—well, it was the same wide-eyed, excited look he gets when he sees something die, he's a strange sort and no one knows that more than I do—"

Sansa felt her face get hot at Clegane's coarse words. She wanted to know more about what Joffrey had said. She hoped nothing too personal. And had he found her favorable? It seemed he had. Did this mean he'd be kinder to her? Sansa had a thousand questions, and she could ask none of them. Instead, she played her part. "I have no idea what his grace was speaking of. And I don't discuss such things. I am a lady. It is improper. As I have seen it, King Joffrey is not interested in me and will not be until we are wed. I know not what he was referring to but he has not had me-"

"The king made it sound as such, and though you have made it clear that your fear of my face impedes your judgment I wanted to see if there was truth in the matter. He says he bedded two whores on his Name Day but I stood outside his door the whole time and thus heard what went on inside. It did not sound like anyone was bedded, but he speaks like he knows what he talks about…For once."

"My king can do what he likes," Sansa replied, and she made quite certain to give Clegane a fierce look right into his eyes to hide her deep shame. "I have no idea why you summoned for me."

Clegane stamped at the ground like an impatient steed. "I'm not here for you to chirp at me, little bird. Now, I've seen him steal to your chambers at night, and I've seen the way you two have been carrying on. Has he touched you?"

Sansa blanched. _So, he has seen! He does know! Well, I won't let on! I won't give him the satisfaction! _"My Joffrey has kissed me and nothing more."

Clegane gave a roll of his eyes and sneered at her. "You covered your neck with ribbons. You watch him with something different, something not unlike when I met you in Winterfell and you stammered at him as though you'd never seen anything with a cock in your life. So tell me, has he fucked you or just beaten you for fun?" Clegane questioned, and there was a hint of bitterness in his tone.

"_Ser! _I am a _lady!" _Sansa burst out, tears stinging in her eyes.

"And I am a Dog! Not a Ser!" declared Clegane. "I am the king's sworn shield and I am loyal to him. I battle for him and I protect him. But while some men blindly protect him, I've seen too much. The king has certain tastes and the king has hobbies. Hobbies that would make a bird fall down dead in fright if she knew. I can look out for you, as you are my future queen. You need not say a word. You may only nod."

He was speaking as if he hated her but he was offering her protection. He was stating that he worked for Joffrey, and then saying he would help her. Nothing in his words made sense, and Sansa just wanted to be rid of him. She did not like his mocking tone, or his gritty laughter, or the coarse way he talked about intimacy. At least Joffrey had regal manners, when he did choose to be kind. Joffrey did not go on and on about "cocks" and "cunts" and he kept his hands perfectly clean. He spoke well and dressed finely, and his cruelty could easily be masked by his striking face. Sansa did not reply to Clegane and she did not nod. She merely stared straight ahead, willing herself to think of Joffrey's good traits.

"You have nothing in your brain except those damned songs you hold onto!" Clegane said loudly with a rude laugh. "Let us hope your head stays pretty. I should hate to be the poor bastard assigned to whacking it off your neck." With that he took off, leaving Sansa feeling as though he'd struck her hard. She willed herself not to cry; she'd been so _emotional _lately, she could just imagine Arya's disdain for her wavering emotions.

'_Crying? Again? What are you doing? Run away! Get out of there! Don't let him speak to you so!'_

_I'm not like you, _Sansa thought, drawing a deep and shuddering breath. _You're strong, Arya. And I am not. You know this—_

'_You could be strong, if only you'd listen. Maybe the Hound only wishes to help you. Maybe you should listen to him instead of being so stupid over dumb old Joffrey!'_

_You wouldn't understand, though. You never do. _

'_He had Father murdered in front of your eyes. You really are stupid.' _

Sansa nervously put her hands through her hair. _You might feel differently when you sleep with a boy—_

'_Sleeping? Is that what you call it?' _Sansa could hear Arya saying this perfectly, and a small smirk flashed on her lips as she imagined Arya's disgusted face. Arya hated most boys but she had a special sort of loathing for the boy king. Sansa really could not picture telling Arya what she'd done, what she was doing, with Joffrey. She couldn't imagine telling anyone, especially her parents. _'What would Mother say? She'd be furious—'_

_Ugh. I cannot think about that! I wish Mother were here but she's not! You're gone, too. I'm all alone. What else do I have? Nothing! I don't have anyone but Joffrey and the queen. They are my family now. You all left me. _

'_You can think of me! Think about me and stop thinking about the king, and about his mother! Think about Mother and Robb and Jon and Bran! Think of Rickon, too. Think of Father, don't forget Father!'_

_I don't want to think of Father. _

'_Why?'_

_Because Father is my fault, and it makes me sad. I cannot think of Lady, either. I have to think about how much I love Joffrey and what a dashing king he is. How kind he is. What a fine husband he'll be—_

'_Are you crazy?' _

Sansa paused. _Well. I am hearing my sister's voice in my mind, so—_

'_Joffrey is evil. He won't make a good husband. He killed Lady. And he'll kill you, too, if you don't run—'_

_Shut up, _Sansa thought, _I need to believe in him! And he didn't kill Lady! You did! _

'_You know that isn't true. Stop trying to forget what you saw. You know what really happened.'_

Sansa drew a breath and tugged up on her skirts as she walked, trying to ignore the loudness of her own mind. She followed the narrow path toward the castle, wanting away from there but not sure where she could go. It was then that Joffrey jumped out at her, a big smile on his face.

"Lady Sansa!" he exclaimed, "I have been looking for you! May I have a word?"

Though his voice was good-natured, Sansa jumped and her heart pounded. Joffrey continued to smile at her, his green eyes watchful and hair bright gold in the sun. _Has Joffrey been here the entire time? Did he hear Ser Clegane? _She looked him over as she thought about how to reply, and saw nothing upon his face but pleasantness. She'd of course learned that his outward expressions said nothing about what his actions might be, but she was glad he wasn't acting angry with her at this moment. "Good morning, your grace," she said, and she was glad that her voice did not waver. "Of course you may—"

"Good," he said with a cheerful-looking sort of nod, and he put out his arm for her to take. "How have you been fairing?" he asked, and Sansa gave him a tentative smile as she slipped her arm through his.

"Well," she answered, as she tried to forget her conversation with Clegane and the "warning" she'd gotten from Arya's voice in her mind. Sansa couldn't believe herself, fashioning a fake conversation with her missing little sister who'd been absent from her life for nearly a year. She hadn't played pretend since she was eight years old, for Gods' sake. "Quite well. And you, my king? How was your hunting trip?"

Joffrey's face lit up like she'd offered him freshly baked lemon cakes, or promised him an exciting surprise. "Oh, it was very good! I shot a pheasant, five hares and a doe!"

"All on your own?" Sansa asked, slightly impressed at the news of the deer but sad, too. She understood the practicality of hunting but she still could not help but like deer for their sweet faces and graceful mannerisms.

"Of course it was on my own!" said Joffrey importantly. "One right after the other. You should have seen them fall! I only needed one arrow for the doe! It flew right into her head!" He gave Sansa a broad beam. "Only one arrow and down she went!"

Sansa cringed, though she feigned interested and nodded with a pleasant expression. "That's very good, your grace, that you only needed one arrow—"

Joffrey's eyes darkened a bit. "Well, yes, it was impressive," he said, and he suddenly seemed somewhat irritated with her. "You should come with me sometime and see just how well I do." It sounded more like a challenge than an invitation.

"I need no proof that you're a skilled hunter, your grace. I don't think a hunt is a place for a lady like me. I might be a bit scared." Sansa hoped this was the right response as it left her mouth.

"I would protect you," Joffrey said instantly and he cupped the curve of her back with the palm of his hand. Sansa felt a shiver down her spine, not at all reassured by Joffrey's words. Joffrey went on, and though it was subtle, Sansa noticed an obvious shift in his tone of voice. "Of course, my Dog would be there, too, I'm sure. He could also protect you."

_Is this merely a coincidence? _Sansa thought, very aware of the way Joffrey's fingers snaked around her waist. "Why should I need him," Sansa began carefully, making certain the words came out in the correct way she wanted, "when I have you by my side?" She was pleased with how humble she sounded.

The king must have been pleased with her, too. He whirled around and grasped her face in his hands, bringing his lips to hers. Sansa squeaked into his open mouth; the kiss was sweet, but he was being forceful, grasping her hips hard in his hands and pressing himself against her. She could feel him, hard, in the spread place between her legs. "Sansa," he whispered into her ear, and she shivered at the tingling sensation. "Sansa, I want to see you in private—will you come to my chambers later this evening? Please, my lady, please." His voice was heavy and slow. Any evidence of cruelty, every shred of vitriol, was gone. It had been replaced with something else, a sort of longing, pulsing with need for her.

Sansa felt her breathing change and between her legs, she felt a twitch of desire. She hated that he made her feel this way, hated that her brain could so easily be tricked by the change in his voice and his hands—she wanted his hands in places she could not even verbally describe without blushing, and his mouth, too, she wanted to feel him all over. It scared her because the want was so strong, it was not a lie, not playing pretend. "Yes, I'll come to you—"

"Good. I will send one of my men tonight," Joffrey responded, in that same curling voice, and he kissed her face, then her hand. Sansa could not hide a smile, and when he held her face again and brought his lips to hers, she happily returned the kiss.

"Ah, young love. How quaint," said a voice behind them. Reddening, Sansa gasped and turned to see Varys and Lord Tyrion, who appeared to be strolling through the gardens. Varys had spoken and was wearing deep purple silk and a curious smile, while Tyrion held a very large and heavy book.

"They seem to be getting on," Tyrion observed. "At least some people seem unaffected by the imminent invasion. There is joy to be had in ignorance, I am told."

Joffrey's mouth curved down as he removed his hands from her cheeks. "You frightened my lady! Apologize at once!"

"No doubt your lady's tolerance for fear has increased in your presence, nephew. She's likely able to endure most terrors by this point," returned Tyrion politely and then gave a little bow. "Though I do apologize for startling her all the same."

Joffrey caught Sansa at her waist again as soon as the two men strode off. "Tonight," he whispered. "I'll see you tonight." And she hated to admit she was looking forward to seeing King Joffrey, as long as he stayed like this.

. . .

Ser Meryn escorted Sansa to Joffrey's chambers when the clock struck nine. Sansa was glad it was not Ser Clegane, for although Meryn was boorish in his own right, he was also far quieter. Any cruelty he displayed was through his acting out of the king's punishments. _But you can't think about that, _Sansa reminded herself as she followed, _it is clear he's trying to be happy with you, and you must stay positive. If you stay in his favor, he will not hurt you. _Instead of worrying about what could go wrong, Sansa recited her favorite romantic rhymes in her head. When Meryn knocked on the king's door and she heard Joffrey call out to enter, she walked in with a straight back and a smile.

"Lady Stark, your grace!" announced Meryn a bit theatrically, and gave a deep bow.

"Leave us, Meryn," Joffrey said from where he was standing near the end of his four poster bed, and he turned to cast a pleasant look at her. He was clothed in far more casual dress, a tunic of deep green and a sash of black velvet, and in his stocking feet. His hair was slightly rumpled as though he'd just come from the bath and Sansa liked how he looked so fine even in his evening clothes.

Meryn nodded. "And when shall I return?"

"My lady and I have some business to discuss. I do not think I should need you anymore, Meryn. If I do, I shall call for you." The king approached Sansa after Meryn had left, head held high as he surveyed her. "My lady—I have waited for you the entire day. I could hardly focus on my duties for I was thinking of you so often."

Sansa felt herself flush. These were the words she would have adored to hear so long ago, and perhaps they still meant something now. It was clear that Joffrey was making an effort for her. Could people change? _'No, they can't, no, they can't,' _sang Arya's voice inside her head, but Sansa ignored it. "My king," she said, and fell into a curtsy. "It pleases me to hear you say this."

"I wanted to speak to you in private," Joffrey went on, and he reached for her hands and took them gently, "but first, be comfortable. If it would please you, sit with me on my bed." Sansa nodded, and he took one hand and led her there, where they sat at the edge side by side. The coverlet was velvety and the mattress was a perfect balance of soft and firm. Candles flickered around the room and Sansa was finally able to appreciate how beautiful it was, how grand. Deep reds made the room feel warm, and trophies lined the walls. There was a beautiful view of the outside; Sansa could see flames from lamplight in the courtyard. A large dressing screen hid the darker corner of the room. She focused again on the king, whose face was bright with excitement. "My mother says you've become a woman at long last," he said.

Sansa's eyes grew a bit wide and she adjusted her weight. After all, she had not expected they'd discuss such things. She was not sure what she thought Joffrey wanted to see her for, but she'd hoped it was for more kissing, more good-natured conversation—not embarrassing, private details. "Y-yes, my king," she said, a bit humiliated.

"You should be excited," Joffrey said with a smile, and he clasped her hands in his own. "It means we shall be married after the war is all done, after I conquer Stannis and bring down his armies!"

Sansa nodded, and though she was still apprehensive about their impending wedding, she knew very well not to mention her hesitance to the king. She knew she needed to believe in her excitement, and that the belief would help make it a reality. "I'm _very _excited. I've been looking forward to my wedding all my life," she said, making sure to sound enthusiastic. "I've imagined my dress, the celebration, my husband—and how perfect it will all be."

"Yes, it _will _be perfect. I have long imagined my wedding as well," Joffrey said, and the dimples showed in the corners of his mouth. Shadows danced across his face but there was no darkness in his expression. He looked bright-eyed, peaceful and most importantly, sane. "We have had a few arguments but as long as you follow my direction and obey me, I promise to make your life here at King's Landing as wonderful as possible."

_A few arguments? Is that what you're calling them? _Sansa nodded again, more slowly this time. Could he be telling the truth? "I want that very much," she said, because if she did not appeal to Joffrey, there was no one left to care for her. In Joffrey's company, she needed to be behind him completely. _Only alone can I pray for Robb to conquer, _Sansa told herself.

"It also means we must take precautions so that you do not get with child," Joffrey said quietly, placing a hand on her leg. Sansa breathed in, enjoying the sensation of his palm on her skirts. "Do you know what I am saying?"

"I know you cannot… end it while you are inside me," she responded, blushing. "I asked my handmaiden once and she said the man must stop before he finishes—if that makes sense—"

Joffrey looked deep and thought, and nodded once after awhile. "Yes," he said, "I understand. We must be very careful, Sansa. If you were to become pregnant before our wedding, you would be in very harsh trouble. My mother would not stand for it, and neither would the courtiers, or my subjects. A queen cannot be impure, Sansa. But I will not tell anyone what we are doing." He looked at her, eyes locking into hers. "And you should not either. Your handmaiden who gave this advice, does she know?"

"She has no idea," Sansa put in quickly, trying to keep her voice steady. "I said nothing. You had me promise—I didn't want to disobey you."

"That's good, Sansa," he replied, still smiling. "You did nothing wrong, don't look so nervous. Anyway, it will be time soon to plan our wedding and I want you to have everything you ever dreamed. We shall make it grander than grand, just imagine! In the throne room, with thousands of guests from far and wide! The best food and drink, and only the greatest entertainment."

"Yes, I look so forward to it, Joffrey," she said, though the eerie throne room sounded a horrid place for a gay affair. "It will be perfect."

"You will be such a beautiful bride," Joffrey went on. "I want to see you with garlands in your hair, in a lavish dress—I can imagine how good you'll look on my arm. Every man will want you for his own but you're mine, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm yours!" Sansa replied in an instant.

"Some already look at you, you know. Some men desire you, even now. Their eyes linger on you," Joffrey said, a sharp edge to his voice. "Even though they know you are my future queen, they still want what they cannot have."

"I suppose I don't notice that. They should know I am yours," Sansa responded, but she did not know where this was going or why the joy had left Joffrey's tone. The only men who had noticed Sansa were those from the riot.

Joffrey crossed one long, lean leg over the other. "I overheard a very interesting conversation today in the garden. Can you imagine what it was about?"

"I—" Sansa began to speak but found her voice coming out in a sputter. _No, no, please, no! _"I don't—know, your grace—"

"You were speaking to my Hound. Do you not remember?" Joffrey asked, and he was smiling wider now.

"I—I remember," Sansa said, swallowing. "I didn't want to—he asked me to speak with him and I was nervous, I didn't know what he wanted—you heard me, your grace! Did you not? I said nothing, nothing but good things. I told him how you are my king, that you may do as you wish—"

"Sansa!" Joffrey exclaimed, and he let out a low laugh, taking her hand again. "You worry so. I heard everything, and you said nothing amiss. Though I was quite disappointed in my Dog. You see, I thought he was my friend but a friend would not do such a thing. He spoke against me. Did he not?"

"He did," Sansa said, breathing a sigh of relief and she squeezed Joffrey's hand in her own. "He did, your grace, but I told him! I told him there was nothing to worry about, that you are my king! I think he only looks out for my wellbeing but I assured him I do not need him."

Joffrey blinked his long lashes, a befuddled look on his face. "But why would he go against me?" he asked with a pout, which made him look years younger. "Why would he care one way or the other about you?"

"I have no idea, your grace," Sansa gasped. "I was wondering the same! I told him that I remain a maid, and that I'm loyal to you—you must have heard!"

"You are completely unaware of the fact that my Dog finds you beautiful. Aren't you?" King Joffrey questioned, and he sneered as he stood and began to pace before the edge of the bed. "Are you really so innocent, Sansa _Stark_?" He hissed her last name like he was a predator preparing to strike and those green orb eyes watched her every move.

Sansa was dumbfounded. Had she unwittingly walked right into a trap without seeing any signs, or was this merely another test? Was the king jealous or was he toying with her? She knew this was no time to mull over Joffrey's actions. She needed to act fast and be smart. She needed to do whatever she could to keep him content. "Your grace, I beg you—I had no idea! Why do you say such a thing?"

"It's charming, you know," Joffrey began, "how simple you can be sometimes. I've watched my Hound around you, Sansa, and he seemed interested in you. But I thought, he'd never fall for a girl. He's much too tough, too hardhearted. He rants about women, hates them. And furthermore, he'd never set sights on _my_ queen, not _my _Dog. But I suppose stranger things have happened and when I heard you both today in the garden, I saw what I'd feared was happening. So tell me, Sansa, for how long has this been going on?"

"What?" choked Sansa, her gaze following Joffrey's movements as he paced, his hands folded behind his back in a prim manner. She was trembling. "How long has _what_ been going on?"

"I saw the way he looked at you that night in the hallway! Remember? He wanted you! He saved you because he wanted you! And now today! Was that the first conversation he had alone with you? Or were there more?" Joffrey asked, and Sansa felt her stomach turn as he stared her down.

"I don't like to speak to him, your grace," Sansa said as fast as the words would form. "I don't like to be alone with him. He scares me, as you know! Sometimes he talks to me as he walks with me, but that is all—"

"What does he say?"

"He—he asks me questions," she replied, trying to recall. It was not a time to lie. "He asked me about you, in the beginning. When we first… He saw the ribbon on my neck and asked if you'd been touching me. He wanted to know if we'd done anything—"

"And you didn't report straight to me?" Joffrey's voice was raising and he was beginning to look the tiniest bit dangerous. "What kind of queen will you be for me if you're dishonest? If you speak to other men behind my back?" He ceased in pacing and instead halted in front of the large dresser to the left of his bed, bathed in the glow of candlelight as he bent over and rummaged about. His blond hair glistened.

"I didn't want you to worry!" she said, wringing her hands. "I told him to mind his business. What else should I have said? I'll set it right! What do you want from me?"

"I want you to tell me the truth," said Joffrey loudly, and there was an abominable creaking. Sansa knew that sound. "Only the truth." When he turned around, he was holding his precious crossbow out in front of him, aiming it straight at her head.

"Joffrey!" Sansa shrieked, and she stood up, scrambling backward. "I didn't do _anything! I swear! I swear! _I hate Ser Clegane! He frightens me! He speaks to me and all I want is for him to leave me alone!"

Joffrey walked forward slowly, his sneer pulled as tight as the arrow he'd loaded. "Tell me. Do you find him handsome? Do you want him to rescue you again?"

"No! I can't stand to look at him! I told you! I hate him! I hate him!" Sansa's voice was something between a wail and a shout and she cowered by the end of the bed.

"Him or me, Sansa?" Joffrey called out, brandishing the crossbow out in front of him with one eye shut, aiming straight for her brain. He took a step forward. _Only one arrow and down she went! _

"YOU!" Sansa screamed, trying to use Joffrey's bedpost as a shield, clinging to it so hard she was sure her hands would splinter. "YOU! ONLY YOU! Why do you even question me? I love you with all my heart! You know I do! He disgusts me! He isn't anything to me!"

"How can I trust you?" Joffrey asked, and he lowered the crossbow ever so slowly. "How do I know you're not a traitor like the rest of the Starks?"

"I—don't—know," Sansa bawled, so relieved he'd dropped his weapon. "I'll do anything, Joffrey—please, please—I'll prove it—"

"Don't cry," Joffrey simpered, but he strode forward and took her in his arms. There was only tenderness in his touch and his eyes were kind again. "I believe you," he said. His breathing was ragged, like he was excited. "But if my Dog were to try anything again… if he were to try and touch you or speak to you… would you tell him what you just told me, Sansa?"

"Oh yes," she nodded into Joffrey's shoulder, tears still pulling from her eyes. "Yes, I would." Of course, Sansa had no plan to tell Ser Clegane she'd called him fearsome and ugly, but she needed to stay alive and Joffrey would never know the difference.

"Good," said King Joffrey agreeably, and he kissed the side of her face. "Oh, Dog!" he shouted suddenly, sounding eager. "Dog! You may join us now!"

Sansa felt her face pale and her chest pang as she heard footsteps. Ser Clegane stepped out from behind the shadowed dressing screen, and it was obvious from the look on his face that he had heard every word.

* * *

To be continued. (Please review!)


	17. The Hero

Chapter Seventeen: The Hero

* * *

..

SANSA

..

The Hound walked slowly into the candlelight, his scraggly dark hair shielding his face. He was stumbling a bit and Sansa recognized that he might be a bit intoxicated. "Your grace," he said slowly, his eyes narrowed. He did not look amused. His fearsome expression scared Sansa but Joffrey went on, obviously emboldened.

"Did you enjoy the wine I gave you? No need to be shy!" Joffrey called out, his voice high and very loud. "Come Dog! I told you I had something interesting for you to see? Didn't I? Didn't I?"

Sansa had set her jaw, very aware of Joffrey's arm still wrapped around her. _Oh no, _she thought frantically. _He must have heard everything I said! I was rude! I was telling Joffrey the truth but it's nothing I wanted Ser Clegane to ever hear! _She did not want to look at the Hound's face but when she finally did, he was averting his eyes from her completely. Sansa burst into tears again. "Please, I had no idea—" she burst out.

"So, you made all of that up?" Joffrey asked, throwing her a wide eyed grin and squeezing her waist. "Lying to a king is treason. You know that." His voice was teasing and upbeat, completely mismatched for the situation.

"No—no, your grace—I meant every word," she shuddered, trying to make it apparent to Clegane that she hadn't meantto be cruel. After all, she'd only been following Joffrey's orders. _But you did mean it, _chirped a nagging voice in her head, _you meant every word, you think about how ugly he is every time you see his face, you detest him, you hate his burns, you hate his voice. You cannot deny this. You know this. _ As if he'd heard her evil thoughts, Clegane's eyes flashed upward, and he glowered at her. Sansa let out a cry and hid behind her hands.

Joffrey laughed. "Look! You scare my lady, even now! What was it you said, Sansa? That you can't stand to look at him? Tell me, is it the burns on his face that frighten you so? Or something else?" He pointed at Ser Clegane as if he were a fascinating illustration in a book instead of a man.

Sansa shut her eyes and shook her head, whimpering. "I don't—know," she managed to get out.

"Perhaps I should leave you, your grace," Ser Clegane said, his voice reverberating and cool. "It is very clear to me how you and your lady deserve each other." His words spoken courteously enough, but Sansa caught the sting of them and she reddened. Her father had often told her things weren't what they seem, that she should not judge outward appearances. Jon had warned her not to put so much stock in physical appearance; he thought Sansa's interest in handsome princes was ridiculous. _They'd all think I was so cruel, the way I spoke about the Hound! I am not me! Sansa would never say something so rude aloud—Sansa would be polite, be good!_

"Oh, don't be like that, Dog," Joffrey went on, flexing up on the balls of his feet as if he could hardly contain his glee. "I'd like you to stay. I don't think you've learned your lesson yet, and what an important lesson it is! If you're going to continue as my shield, I need to know that you work for _me_."

"And haven't I proven that through my years of service to you?" Clegane asked, his voice still low and steady. "I have gone against my own judgment to deliver your justice, my king."

"Yet you conspire against me," said Joffrey in a crisp tone. "You worry for my betrothed, worry I'm not treating her as well as I could. Sansa is mine, and I can treat her however I like! If I want to touch her, I can." He coiled his arm around Sansa's shoulder. "If I want to kiss her, I can!" He took Sansa gently by the face, and pulled her hands from her eyes in a careful grip. She looked at him in confusion just as he planted a soft kiss on her lips, his mouth smooth and his breathing still very fast. She bit back her tears, the pleasantness of the feeling twisting her mind to pieces. When she cast a frantic look in Clegane's direction, pleading with him in her mind to forgive her and see she had no choice, he averted his gaze at once. Joffrey went on. "And whatever happens between Lady Sansa and me depends upon what _I _want for I am the king. But you, Dog, you played the part of my confidant and now I come to find you've tried time and time again to question Sansa about me!" "How do you explain this? How?" Joffrey's voice was tinny and boyish. Sansa wanted very much to scream at him and tell him to shut up, but her desire to keep kissing him was just as strong.

Ser Clegane was silent for a moment before he cleared his throat. "Your grace," he began, "it is my duty to make certain you are not in danger and the very things you are doing could upset the realm. If the queen regent knew you had been intimate with Lady Stark, as I feared, you'd both surely be punished—"

"You don't serve the _realm," _Joffrey spat, no longer sounding amused. Sansa felt her stomach drop; there was no telling where this would go now. "You don't serve my _mother. _You serve me! And you're wrong. I wouldn't be punished! My mother would never believe you."

The Hound said nothing and Sansa figured he must be thinking the same thing she was, that Joffrey was completely right. Sansa caught Clegane's eyes, but when he stared back it was like looking into empty black pools. Sansa instantly looked away, sickened by the fact that despite what she felt about the Hound she still did not want him to dislike her. She wanted to find a way to apologize and gain his favor, but this was not the time to think about that. Sansa had a sense of strong dread and she waited for the Hound's next move, her breathing quickening.

"Your grace," Clegane said after a few seconds of thick silence. "I do serve you and I had no intention of conspiring against you. Sansa is the future queen and I only wished to protect her, _and _you, by making quite certain you are both being careful. She will be the mother of the future king, as it stands, your grace. And as you made me stand guard as you spoke, I know now that you are going to be careful. This Dog will no longer be worried about such matters. You have my promise. And, with your permission, now I will leave you-"

"Admit it. You are fond of Sansa," said Joffrey icily, and he removed his hand from Sansa's waist. "You fancy her." Sansa looked between them. Joffrey wasn't right, was he? Clegane disliked her! _He thinks me stupid. He's always going on about songs and birds, making fun of me for only following orders and how little I know. He wouldn't fancy me! He said so before! _

"No," said Ser Clegane at once, and his voice was slightly louder. "I do not fancy her, your grace. I do not fancy anyone. This you know."

"But you find her pretty. You shouldn't be afraid to admit it. She's beautiful, isn't she?" Joffrey smiled broadly, and he twirled his hand through Sansa's hair. She cast her eyes at the boar's head on the wall, wishing the gaping mouth would swallow her whole.

There was a very slight clanking sound as Clegane shuffled his weight and put up his shoulders in indifference. "She is not unappealing, your grace—"

"_Not unappealing," _Joffrey mocked quietly, slowly moving both his hands into Sansa's hair. He threaded his fingers through her locks with a gentleness foreign to her and she shut her eyes again, breathing harder. "When my father and mother informed me of my betrothal they called Lady Sansa the treasure of the North. My mother said again and again how a gorgeous girl like Sansa shouldn't be kept in an eyesore like Winterfell. Wouldn't you agree, Dog? Or is she just _unappealing_ to you? Are your tastes so much better than my own?"

"Your grace, I do find her attractive. As does nearly every other man in your service—"

Sansa blushed at this revelation; was he only saying this to make Joffrey be quiet?

"Ah! Finally a bit of truth!" Joffrey said, and nodded approvingly. "Tell me, Dog, what do you like best about her? I am partial to her eyes, and her hair." He ran his hands down the length of her tresses and his palms landed on her shoulders. "I like her throat, too," he went on, his voice silky, and Sansa bristled as his fingernails lightly tickled her exposed collarbone, "and her breasts. You almost saw them once, Dog. Before Uncle Imp spoiled my fun and took Sansa back to her chambers. _You _put your cloak around my lady's shoulders. What a valiant and generous hero you are, Dog. But tell me—how disappointed were you, really? Did you think about what you could have seen? Did you think about it all evening, how exciting it would have been to see Sansa completely bare in front of you?"

Sansa's mouth hung slack in shock. _Why is he talking like this? Doesn't he know it's embarrassing? Ser Clegane wouldn't have thought about me in that way! Why would he? That's not proper for a man to think about such things. _

"Disappointed?" asked Clegane slowly, looking down blearily at the king with a confused expression. "I have no idea what you are asking me."

And then, in a very casual voice, Joffrey asked: "Would you like to see Sansa naked now?"

"What?" Sansa squealed, whipping around to face King Joffrey, her blue eyes filled with terror. "You can't mean it! Your grace!"

"Oh, it will be fun," Joffrey responded lightly. "Don't look so disturbed. Come, Dog. Use your sword and cut open her bodice. Consider this your luckiest day—"

"Your grace," said the Hound, sounding uncomfortable, "I shouldn't think this is what you want—another man to gaze upon your future queen?"

Joffrey laughed. "I'd let one hundred men gaze upon her as long as they knew she was mine. Go on, unburden her." He waved his wrist.

"You can't!" Sansa shrieked. "Please, Joffrey—Please!"

"I _can," _he said, and smiled at her. "Here. I can begin to undress her." He grabbed Sansa harshly by the shoulders, turned her around and wrenched at the back of her gown, undoing the first clasp. Sansa squirmed, whimpering and shaking her head; there was nowhere to run, she could not disobey Joffrey, but she did not want the Hound to see her body! "Come and help me, Dog. This is tricky—"

"Your grace, I really do not—"

Joffrey scowled, eyes flashing, and he dug his hands into Sansa's back. She yowled. "Undress her!" he commanded, voice echoing off the walls of his chambers. "Undress her or else I'm going to make certain she is punished. She _is _a woman after all, and it would be very easy to make certain she is unfit to be queen. It would be too easy."

"What are you going to do?" Sansa asked in a wild voice, struggling in Joffrey's arms. She felt as if she were panicking, drowning quickly in deep water with nothing to hold onto to.

But Joffrey did not address her. Instead, he shoved her forward hard. "Do it!" he shouted. "Take your prize! See if she lives up to your expectations! Do this or I'll yell out into the hallway. Meryn and Boros will be here in an instant and I'll tell them you accosted my lady! Boros knows you were standing guard in my room this evening! I told him! You cannot get out of this!" Joffrey's tone was a manic thing, high and excited but with a twinge of fury.

Ser Clegane made a sound between a sigh and a growl. "Little bird," he said in a low tone, "turn around and stand still. I must do this, by order of King Joffrey."

Sansa shrieked. "Please! Please!" she begged, not even knowing who she was addressing or what she was pleading for. _'I told you,' _said the voice in her head, the voice that was something between Arya's voice and her own. _'He's evil!' No, _she argued, _No, he's right—I should never have followed the Hound today, and the Hound should have known better. Why would he go against Joff like that? It's against the realm. _ She felt coarse hands on her back and there was a great sound of splitting material. Sansa gritted her teeth and shut her eyes as she felt the rush of air to her exposed back.

"Pull down her gown over her breasts now. And remove her corset," Joffrey ordered excitedly, and when Sansa dared to look at him she observed how he had moved to sit on the edge of the bed with his crossbow at his side. His eyes were gleaming in the candlelight and he was hunched forward, his hands on his knees. She had no time to wonder what was making him so thrilled, because she felt the Hound tugging at her sleeves and there was another sound of ripping. Joffrey's shoulders seemed to shake as he leaned in, his eyes fixed upon Sansa's chest.

"I'm sorry, my lady," muttered Ser Clegane but Joffrey stomped his foot, making Sansa jump.

"No talking!" he said in a sharp voice. "Just take off her corset! Now!"

The Hound began to unhook the backing of Sansa's undergarment, his large rough hands working slowly and smoothly, as Sansa held back tears and tried to imagine she was somewhere else. Anywhere else. Winterfell came to mind first and Sansa imagined she was walking amongst the sentinels in the godswood, with a light breeze playing with her hair instead of the Hound's gnarled fingers as he held back her tresses with one hand and with the other coaxed her corset open. Sansa could perfectly picture the old weirwood, and she imagined Bran running in front of her, using his sword to flick droplets of water out of one of the shallow pools. She bit her lip when she felt her garment fell away, and ignored King Joffrey's excited whoop of laughter, put Ser Clegane out of her mind as Joffrey commanded him to admire Sansa from the front.

"_Come back! Come back! Don't run too far!" _ Sansa imagined herself calling to Bran, pulling on Lady's lead and petting her from snout to tail as the direwolf panted happily. She could really feel Lady's fur, soft and thick, in her spread hands as Joffrey told her raise her arms to the side.

"Stop averting your eyes, Hound," Joffrey said. "Enjoy her while you can. Sansa, pull down your skirts-"

Sansa stared blankly ahead, her mind focused on Lady's soft fur and Bran, she had to get Bran home, he'd gone too far, Mother was going to be furious!

"NOW!" Joffrey insisted, and he raised up his crossbow, the quarrel still loaded and ready to be shot.

"She's beautiful, your grace. What more shall I say? I admire her, but she is yours. Your beautiful queen." Clegane's gruff voice was coming out as a deep, slightly nervous chant as Sansa unhooked the clasp of her gown. "Lady Stark—please, keep your skirts up—King Joffrey, your grace, I believe my lesson has been learned—"

"Order me again and I'll shout for Boros!"

Vacantly, Sansa let her skirts drop to the wooden floor where they pooled around her feet. She tried to keep focused on being out of her body, in Winterfell, or in the gardens of King's Landing, or even in her living quarters, but she could not ignore Ser Clegane's gaping face. He hulked above her, and though his face was slightly shadowed, Sansa caught the attentiveness in his stare. His eyes were firmly focused on her bare breasts and torso, his mouth ajar as he stared at her. She did not have much in the way of experience with men but at once, Sansa could feel the lust in his look. The Hound was interested in her body. Joffrey had been right. She felt her face flush and the Hound seemed to snap out of his daze. He shuffled his feet again and gazed above her head.

"Do you like what you see?" Joffrey asked, lowering the crossbow again and smiling primly at the Hound. "Do you wish you were me, that she was yours?"

"She's beautiful, your grace," the Hound repeated, and though his voice was gruff, Sansa heard it waver. She closed her eyes again. _Winterfell. Think of Winterfell. The winding Kingsroad and Mother and Father and Bran climbing trees, and Arya. Robb, Jon, and Theon quarreling, and Rickon. Septa's lessons and lemoncakes and everything that happened before the world fell to pieces. _

"Kiss her."

"This has gone too far, the lady is frightened—"

"Yes, because _you_ scare her. You heard her. She loathes you," said Joffrey instantly. "Kiss her."

Sansa shut her eyes tighter and shook her head from side to side, unable to listen anymore. Joffrey whispered something that she could not quite catch, something that made the Hound take a few steps forward, Sansa could hear his clinking armor. And then, without warning, she felt Ser Clegane's scratchy face pressed against her own and his dry, firm lips pushed onto hers. He smelled pungent, like sweat and dirt and he tasted like wine. The kiss was not horribly unpleasant—but it was _so wrong, so very wrong._ Sansa felt herself choking on his odor.

"A Stark wolf and a Dog! What a perfect match! How is that, Sansa?" Joffrey cried. "Is it good?"

"No!" she answered in a shudder. "No! Please, Joffrey—please—"

"Kiss her again, Dog. I know you wish to. I see it on your face—"

"Your grace—"

"Kiss her again or I'll shoot her in the head," Joffrey warned.

Sansa shook her head again, her heart feeling as though it would burst through her chest. "You must listen to him! Listen!" she babbled. "You must listen!" Again, she wasn't exactly sure who she addressing. She did not feel as if she was even present. The naked girl in the king's chambers was some other poor wretch. She felt Clegane stooping over her again, and this time when their lips met the kiss was a bit longer and he caught her waist with his hands. His uniform was abrasive and cold against Sansa's bare breasts and his hands covered much more of her skin than Joffrey's could.

"Touch him," Joffrey urged, breathing in a heavy way. "Touch him there between his legs, up inside his mail."

_Bran. Come back here this instant, Mother won't like it! Mother won't like it! No, she won't! And then Father will punish me for it! _She did as the king wanted. She reached inside Ser Clegane's mail and felt him with the tips of her fingers. She clenched her teeth and sucked in air when realized that his groin, exposed from the protection of his torso and leg armor, was hard. When she met his eyes, he was looking down at her. His expression embarrassed Sansa; it was eager but with a red tinge to his long, scruffy cheeks. She removed her hand as though it were on fire.

"Does he grow there?" Joffrey asked and Sansa blushed deeply as she nodded. Joffrey rose to his feet, crossbow in hand. His eyes were curious and wide as he circled them, leering. "A Stark wolf and a Dog," he said again. "Yes. A lying Hound and a dishonest bitch. If you two desire one another so much, why not fuck? Right now."

"Joffrey!" Sansa exclaimed, hating to hear such awful words fall from the king's mouth. "No, you can't mean it—Please, no—I'm yours! I'm yours!"

"Hound, you heard my command. Throw my lady to the ground like the wolf she is and take her like a dog does. Fuck her until her screams nearly split my eardrums. Don't be gentle!" Joffrey said, rubbing his hand through his flaxen hair. His animated expression deeply perplexed Sansa, who, on the contrary, felt sick.

The Hound did not make any moves toward Sansa. They stood looking dumbly at each other as Joffrey circled them like a bird of prey. "Fuck her!" Joffrey squawked, eyes suddenly blazing with madness. "I want to see blood! I want you to punish her! Punish her now!" When nothing happened, he snorted impatiently. "Sansa, close your eyes!"

She did so. What other choice was there? She prayed Clegane would be quick, that he'd show her mercy. She hoped no one would ever know she'd had not one, but two men, and that one of them had been the ugly, brutal Hound. He was twice her age (_maybe older?_) and he was lusting for her—what was _wrong _with him!? If he went through with this, she'd definitely be spoiled. Joffrey likely would not want her, and she'd be cast out of King's Landing—and where else could she go? _And Gods—he could get me with child now! _she thought wildly, beginning to moan aloud with worry. She pulled at her hair, her eyes shut tight. "Please Joffrey, please, please be kind and call off the Hound. Tell him to leave me alone. Please, Joffrey, please. Please. Please. I'm yours and you're mine and I'll never, ever go behind your back again! I promise!"

"Hound, on the count of three, I want you to begin or else I will release this arrow! Fuck Sansa Stark! Fuck her like a dog! On your knees, Sansa!"

"Joffrey, _please!" _she bawled, but she did as she was told and fell to the ground.

"Yes, just like that," Joffrey said approvingly, "now, Hound, rip her apart!"

"JOFFREY! JOFFREY, PLEASE!"

There was a clinking of armor and then a thick silence as Sansa's entire body shook with apprehension. There were three footfalls and she felt Clegane's rough hand on her back. _Pretend it's only Joffrey. He hurts you but he's to be your husband. He's allowed to hurt you. _Gentle hands that raked her hair. _It will be over soon. _She felt her teeth chattering from a chill and from fear. She did not _want _Clegane inside her, did not want him to use her. She did not like that he was desirous for her and she hated that he'd gotten her into trouble with Joffrey. This was all the Hound's fault! Sansa's hands burned against the wooden floor, her nails dug in as much as she could. "Don't—don't—don't! Please! Please, Joffrey, please!" she shouted.

And then, a miracle happened. "NO! NO! NO! Don't you _dare _touch Lady Sansa, Dog! Don't you dare hurt her! Get away from her!" King Joffrey shouted, and she heard him moving closer to her. Sansa opened her eyes to see the king standing between her and Clegane, in a protective stance. His crossbow was up and his legs were shaking.

"Yes, your grace," Clegane said in a dull voice. "Of course." He stepped back at once.

"I dismiss you! I think you've been sufficiently punished! You may leave, and if you tell anyone about Lady Sansa and me, I'll tell them all exactly what I said I would earlier. You have my word. Out, Dog, and do not ever disrespect me or my lady again!" Joffrey said loudly, and Sansa watched him, baffled, as he waved the crossbow at Ser Clegane. He was heads shorter than the Hound, but the Hound was backing up, fear in his black pool eyes. King Joffrey stood his ground until Clegane fled from the room, tossing the door shut behind him.

Sansa's body felt flooded with relief. She'd been spared from a horrific experience. King Joffrey had pardoned her mistake and hadn't punished her. She was so very glad, she began to laugh with delight. "Thank you!" she said, "Thank you!"

"My poor lady," Joffrey mumbled somberly, and he bent down on one knee, placing his cool, soft palm to her cheek. His blond bangs hung over his face as he leaned over her, offering his hand. "Let me find you something with which to cover yourself," he said sweetly, and he helped her to her feet in a sturdy grip.

"Thank you, Joffrey. Please, _please, _don't be mad at me!" Sansa begged, the threats of the crossbow and Clegane still very real to her. "I wouldn't have wanted that from him. I hate him. I wasn't lying—"

"I could see that," Joffrey said, and when he kissed her gently on the side of her face, she managed a smile. "I am so sorry that I did not trust you. It was clear that you did not have any interest in him, Sansa. I don't know what I was thinking."

_'__He's crazy. Don't trust him,' _said Arya in Sansa's ear but Sansa felt nothing but joy. Joffrey had seen her perspective and he had not let the Hound touch her. He'd protected her.

"I thought I'd find it funny," Joffrey went on, "seeing you with him. I thought it would be a very good way to get my point across. But I didn't like it. Not at all." He removed his sash and put it over her shoulders so that it draped down and covered her breasts. "It really made me jealous to see that," he said. "I do not ever want to see you with another man. I want you to know you are mine and only mine."

"Anything you wish!" Sansa said quickly and smiled as the king kissed her again. She ignored the warning voices in her head and let herself only experience the thrill of feeling him touch her.

"Stay with me for awhile? I really couldn't stand to be alone right now," said Joffrey, and the lunacy was completely gone from his eyes. Sansa saw only compassion there and she nodded her head in an instant. She did not want to be alone either.


	18. Absolute and Complete

A/N: Thanks to all for the encouraging reviews and the favs/follows. I did get one odd review saying I must "really hate Sansa to write this crap", and aside from the jab at my writing, that's about as opposite from my opinion of Sansa as possible. Sansa is one of my favorite characters, after the Lannisters, and I think she is a strong, smart young woman. This fic has had many warnings attached to it and it's not going to be happy. I'm trying to portray abuse as realistically as possible and furthermore, it's a dark fic. Sadomasochism is surely not for everyone, nor is a fic about Stockholm Syndrome, or a very abusive relationship that isn't written in a black and white way. I'm pulling from some of my own experiences, using the DSM IV, and studiously researching the characters and the abuse they've suffered. I always encourage well-meaning constructive criticism but I don't want to be accused of hating a character because someone doesn't like the very nature of the story.

Also, I changed chapter one so that it begins with Sansa's POV. I was debating whether or not to write Sansa chapters in the beginning, and I'm glad I did. Now the beginning makes WAY more sense. Thank you all for your support! You're all awesome.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: Absolute and Complete

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..

JOFFREY

..

* * *

_You're mine, you're mine, you're no one else's. Not his. You are mine, _Joffrey thought as he pulled Sansa to him and stroked her hair. His heart was palpitating viciously in his chest and he felt so relieved that the Hound had left Sansa alone, so relieved he could almost feel himself breaking down. He could not let that happen, though. Sansa was there and he needed to be strong for her. She'd been so afraid, cowering on the floor and the Dog almost had her- that brutal, lying bastard.

_I should have shot him down. I should have planted an arrow straight to his groin. What a sick, miserable excuse for a man. And to think I used to call him my friend. I even used to see him as a father! He was always there for me, and he protected me. He could never do anything like raise a hand to me or hurt me because he worked for me. Even Father hit me. And there was the time Uncle Jaime slammed my finger in the door when I just wanted to see why he and Mother were taking so long in her chambers, he said it was an accident but it hurt all the same. Uncle Imp is constantly berating me and smacking me. The Hound was the one man I could trust. Well, not anymore! Never again will I entrust anyone, especially around my lady. I have to protect her. _

Joffrey had not wanted it to play out this way; he'd had quite a different picture in his mind of how the events would go. He'd been amused at first, seeing Sansa and the Hound act like unwilling players in his very own performance. He'd felt completely powerful seeing the Hound, a full-grown man, obey his wishes, and Sansa, too. Seeing them succumb to his every whim. Sansa stripping down bare and the Hound's unwilling interest in her had been captivating. Joffrey knew what lust looked like, (_"He didn't love them," _Mother had snarled, her eyes blazing as she recalled Father and his whores, _"he lusted for them"_) and the Hound had gazed upon Sansa like a starving man longed for meat. Being in control of the two of them had given Joffrey an instantaneous erection that pulsed and rubbed in his velvet breeches, leaving him breathless and wanting to see more, more humiliation, more touching, more terror on their faces. But what had seemed like the perfect plan had become a complete nightmare.

Joffrey had no doubts that he could pull off setting the Hound and Sansa against one another. It had been easy enough to convince the Hound to stand guard in his chambers behind the dressing screen. The Hound hadn't seen anything off about the request after Joffrey had given him a flagon of wine for his troubles and had instructed him to pay close attention to what Lady Stark had to say because he'd suspected her of traitorous acts. Of course, by the time Lady Sansa was delivered to Joffrey's chambers, the Hound was drunk enough that Joffrey knew he'd do nothing unwise, like disobey him. Joffrey knew Clegane enough to be certain of his limits, and when Clegane was sober or too drunk, he thought quickest, reacted fast and strong. But in the place between just a bit drunk and stupidly wasted, the Hound's thinking was blurred, his will to act more subdued. When Joffrey had the Hound reveal himself, the look on Sansa's face had been priceless. That probably would have been enough, and it was where Joffrey's initial plan had ended. But he could not contain his spontaneity. He really had no control.

Telling Sansa to expose herself was sheer brilliance and it led to such hysterical reactions from the Hound! Had he been without a woman's touch for so long? His longing looks had been telling alone, but when he'd finally confessed his attraction to Lady Sansa, Joffrey wanted to jump with joy. It was hilarious and pathetic and perfect, _so perfect. _Sansa had looked so blank and bewildered and the Hound had tried so hard to uphold his honor. When he'd commanded the Hound to kiss Sansa, he'd seen reason in the man's eyes, dangerous reason, and Clegane had tried to get out of it.

But it was then that Joffrey whispered in the Hound's ear in a hissing, singsong voice: _"Kiss her, kiss her, if you don't kiss her I shall fuck her sometime when you are gone and I shall not take any precautions and when she gets with child I shall tell them all it is yours, I'll tell them you've been having an affair with her. She won't be able to be queen. And you know what that means. What they'll do to you I don't know. Want to find out?"_

Joffrey had not planned to say that, though he had thought about how easy it would be. It was such a stroke of genius and at the last moment, too, and the Hound had looked nervous. Joffrey was also very proud of the lie that Boros knew of the Hound's presence in Joffrey's room. But Clegane believed it all, and he kissed Sansa, kissed her twice. It had been enthralling, just like some of Joffrey's fantasies: a fearsome type of man accosting a pretty girl, and by his own command, too- and the best part was, he got to watch, his eyes drying from staying open for so long.

Then, in a matter of seconds, it stopped being exciting and began to disgust Joffrey. The feeling hit him like a rolling black muck sliding down an emerald green hill. This man, this hulking, badly burned, _dog _of a man was pawing at his lady, was grasping her with dirty hands and kissing her with a dirtier mouth. And his lady, standing still, had done nothing to stop the Hound. But Joffrey reasoned with himself, told himself it was not her fault. She was trying to be dutiful. Yet the feeling still made him sick, especially when she felt the Hound inside his armor and confirmed that he was hard. It was not just a game. The Hound truly did desire her. That had sparked fury in Joffrey. If they wanted each other, then so be it! If Sansa wanted to be fucked and filled with the Hound's seed, then why not see her treated like the Wolf bitch she truly was? His hatred for the both of them had made him feel furious but also elated as he commanded Sansa to fall to her knees like a Stark wolf. To get ready to be fucked and split open like she surely deserved for going against him, for breaking his heart with her treachery.

The Hound had been apprehensive as Sansa turned her back and dropped to her knees, though his hand had subconsciously moved to the front of his armor, his body in competition with his brain. Sansa's moon white back, her hands clawing the wooden floor, her arse up high in the air with only the very last thin undergarment hiding her buttocks from Joffrey and Clegane- it was a beautiful sight to behold, absolute and complete submission mixed with fear. The very definition of eroticism. And right then, Joffrey realized he did not want it to be the Hound who fucked Sansa there on the floor. Joffrey could not have anyone on her but himself. She was his bride-to-be, his prize, his lady. When he'd drawn his crossbow, ready to deliver a fatal arrow to Sansa for reasons he really could not explain, the Hound had moved over to shield Sansa. But Joffrey didn't want the Hound to save her again, either. Joffrey wanted to save her. And he had.

Now, Sansa was safe in his arms and Joffrey wouldn't let anyone hurt her. Not the Hound. Not anybody. Joffrey draped his sash around Sansa's shoulders to cover her bare breasts and then set to work collecting her garments from the floor. The corset had not been harmed but the gown was unfortunately ripped by the Hound's blade. Joffrey helped Sansa string the corset back together, and stepped behind her to gently tie the back. At least she'd be a bit less cold. He gave her the skirt next, and she stepped into it, smiling at him in an adoring way that made his insides fill with a warm, pleasant feeling.

"Thank you, your grace," she said finally, breaking the quiet. "Thank you so much for sparing me." She held out her hands and Joffrey took them in his own, swinging them slowly from side to side. "I didn't mean to go against you. I never want to, and I never will, ever again." Her crystal blue eyes were so demure and her mouth was so sweet. Joffrey could not imagine hating her; he couldn't even remember why he ever had.

"I hope not," Joffrey said seriously. "I want us to be happy. When you do these bad things, it confuses me. You know I..." He paused, hesitating. _We are the only ones we can trust, _said Mother's voice in the back of his mind. _Love makes you weak. And you, my son, are anything but weak._

"What is it?" Sansa asked in a murmur, her gentle fingers massaging Joffrey's very slightly. "Joffrey?"

He shook his head. "Another time, perhaps," he said, and brought his lips to her cheek to deliver another light kiss. "But now, will you lie with me for a bit?" She nodded her head and so Joffrey led her to his bed and pulled back the silk coverlet, allowing Sansa to slide in first. Her shining hair shielded half her face, giving her a shadowed and mysterious appearance. _You're so beautiful, _Joffrey thought as he curled up next to her, entwining his fingers in hers again. _I think I might be falling in love with you. _

"I don't like making you angry," Sansa whispered, her eyes grave.

Joffrey dropped her hands. "I don't wish to talk about that anymore. Besides, I was not _angry_." He thought about that for a moment. _Angry? No, I don't think so. Maybe a bit. I don't remember, actually. _ "Not really. I saw at once you weren't interested in my Dog, but then I had my doubts in the end. Mostly, I am angry with him. He was dishonest."

"He was," Sansa agreed, though her eyes traveled to the canopy. He followed her eyes upward and then stared at her face, hard, wondering if she was hiding something. He prayed she wasn't. At Joffrey's inquisitive glance, she immediately locked eyes with him again. "He should have never gone behind your back. You are the king."

"The true king," Joffrey agreed offhandedly, and then took Sansa in his arms, leaning into her neck. He drew her close to him but positioned himself so that she could not feel the hardness that still throbbed between his legs. He willed it to go down. But having Sansa beside him was too much. Still, he didn't feel like fucking her. He just wanted her there. "I don't want him talking to you. And I wish for you not to even look at him. That's an order," he said, and grazed her neck with his lips. Sansa shuddered and he smiled.

"I wouldn't dare, Joffrey. I don't wish to look at him—"

"Meryn will fetch you from now on. He's not as good but he'll be silent if I tell him to. Or I can visit you in your chambers," Joffrey said, feeling happier by the minute. _And perhaps we'll run into Sansa's handmaiden again. _ His mind flashed to the memory of the whores beating each other and he wondered if perhaps Sansa would be interested in doing something like that. It would be a fantastic bonus if the same sort of thing excited her. He'd had his doubts about Sansa's constitution, and he and his mother had agreed that she was a sensitive girl. But it made the fantasy even sweeter to imagine sweet, good Lady Sansa, _Queen _Sansa, beating her handmaiden with a candlestick, or better yet, his scepter. Joffrey was beginning to think that despite all of her faults, Sansa Stark was going to be the perfect queen.


	19. Venom

Chapter Nineteen: _Venom_

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SANSA

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* * *

It was otherworldly. King Joffrey had gone from the nightmarish shadow boy to a sweet, sensible shade of himself. Everything was perfect, with a slight chill of eeriness in the air that Sansa desperately tried to ignore. After all, Joffrey had spared her.

When he put his hands over hers, he was gentle with her fingers. His hands were so smooth and welcome in comparison to the Hound's and his fingernails were very short and neat. Joffrey's musty, clean smell engulfed Sansa's nostrils and his lips on hers made her stomach do pleasant cartwheels. He was no longer angry and everything was going to be alright. Sansa's breathing had dropped to a normal pace and she felt safe. Joffrey had called off his Hound, and she was so grateful it was difficult for her to tell herself that it was Joffrey who'd put her in the predicament with Clegane in the first place. She _did _know that was the truth but she did not want to accept it. She needed to focus on the positive part—that Joffrey had not punished her. He was not going to let Clegane defile her, and he wanted her to stay by his side. When he spoke to her, his voice was quiet and calm instead of piercing and demeaning. _For now, _ Sansa told herself as he pulled back the coverlet on his large bed and let her get in but when he gently took her hands in his again she mentally cursed herself for her doubts. _Joffrey is good, he really is, it's simply buried deep down_. When she apologized profusely to him, he accepted her. When she expressed concern for making him angry, he comforted her. His expression was as warm as his body and when he pressed his chest to her back and breathed kind words into her hair, she felt his heartbeat, fast, against her.

_If I can shut out the bad, if I can forget everything, things can be just as they should be. King's Landing can be a fairytale land again and Joffrey can be my loving king, just as long as I keep him happy. That's all he really wants. I must do as he says and stay away from the Hound. The Hound is trouble and not only that, he wants to hurt me. Just before Joffrey ordered him to leave, he was going to accost me. That makes him worse than Joffrey, who is my betrothed and my king. The Hound pretended he was interested in helping me and Joffrey was right all along—the Hound only wanted me for himself. _ Sansa felt Joffrey sigh into her neck and his long arms gripped her steadily. _But, _said the tiny voice of doubt in her mind, _but, the Hound has never hurt you! The only time he did was when he was ordered and today, Joffrey ordered him to do what he did. You know this. _ She shook her head and screwed her eyes shut, willing her thoughts to be quiet. She intertwined her arms into Joffrey's, trying to enjoy the feel of his delicate sheets and satin pillows, the way he was lying with her, like they had never had any troubles. _Don't be ungrateful. Think of all he has done for you. He could have let you get very hurt. Remember that. _

"My lady," Joffrey muttered into her ear and Sansa squirmed pleasurably at the feeling. "My lady Sansa. I have long dreamed of this. I want you and I to be happy together. And now, we will, won't we?"

"Yes," Sansa replied instantly. "I certainly hope so, Joffrey." Could he read her mind? Or were they becoming more alike? Either way, she felt glad for it.

"When Stannis invades, I'll make absolutely certain you are kept safe whilst I fight to save my kingdom," Joffrey purred into Sansa's neck. "We'll be wed as soon as possible after that. I want you to have everything you ever wanted, as long as you keep being good. You will, won't you?"

Sansa simultaneously felt her insides drop and her heart pound as she nodded. '_You are supposed to be hoping for Robb to triumph. You should also pray that Stannis will conquer and overthrow the Lannisters.' _

"Answer me when I speak to you," the king said, his voice steady and low. There was no anger in it, and Sansa wished to keep it that way.

"Yes, yes, of course," she replied. "I want nothing more than to please you. I won't rest until you are back safe, and we can be married. And I'll be good. I swear I'll be good, Joffrey." _Don't think of Robb, and do not even for a moment consider that Stannis will win the war. It's a terrible, impure thing to consider, when you are going to be Joffrey's wife. Remember, _Joff _is the one who saved you. Robb and the others haven't been able to do a thing. This is all you have. This is your life. _

Joffrey unwrapped his hands from Sansa's and tapped her shoulder. "Turn around and face me. I wish to look upon you," he said softly, twisting a finger through her hair. Sansa complied at once, rolling on her side and meeting his eyes. His gaze was intent but also very fond. He slowly ran a finger down the side of her face before holding her face in both of his hands. "I will wake you when it is time for you to leave but I'd like for you to lie by my side. How does that sound, Lady Sansa?"

"It sounds very good, your grace," Sansa said, allowing herself to smile. Joffrey leant in and pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him back, tentatively wrapping her arm around his back. She could feel his spine slightly through his shirt and it struck her how small he felt, how delicate. Sansa knew inside that no matter how gentle Joffrey seemed, she needed to strive to keep him that way. Her fate rested completely in her own hands and she had only herself to blame for any mistakes.

Minutes later, Sansa watched as the king's eyelids grew heavy, his long eyelashes fluttering. He looked so innocent that Sansa could easily forget his transgressions. If she had to stay in King's Landing, she wanted times like this to last forever. Very gingerly, she reached out and swiped Joffrey's bangs from his face, admiring his pouty lips and porcelain skin. "Goodnight, my king," she whispered, hoping if she could hold onto this long enough, it would become their reality. He muttered something indiscernible before slumping against the pillows, his hands falling slowly from her face and his mouth slightly ajar as he collapsed into slumber. She stroked his soft hair and kissed his forehead, ignoring the feeling of guilt that was still swimming inside her. _There is nothing else I can do. I must accept my duties as Joffrey's wife and I must enjoy them. _

…

Sansa's eyes flashed open. She could see nothing but pure blackness and for a moment, she had no idea where she was or why there was another person beside her. Her heartbeat raced until her eyes adjusted and she recalled she was with Joffrey in his chambers. The candles had gone out and the night was still, and so Sansa was unsure what had woken her. The king was breathing quietly, his face on Sansa's chest. She smiled faintly and closed her eyes, already drifting back to sleep. But Joffrey's voice cut the silence:

"Stop it!"

Sansa jumped at Joffrey's sudden loud command, her eyes snapping downward. "S-sorry, your grace—what did I do?" she stuttered quietly, being certain to keep very still. There was no response for a moment, and so Sansa waited, fearful of doing something wrong. Still, Joffrey said nothing. He only breathed hard against her bosom. His breath was hot and he sounded like he was still sleeping. "Joffrey?" she whispered.

Joffrey's response came out in a long, loud snarl: "All of them, all of them, kill them all!" He thrashed his arm across Sansa's body and seized the coverlet. He said a few more barely audible things before turning onto his side and dragging all of the blankets with him.

The cold soon set in, but Sansa felt paralyzed. She wondered if he was well, though, and considered trying to coax him out of what seemed to be some bad dream. Regretting that she was clothed in only her bodice and skirts, Sansa shivered and shut her eyes, willing herself to go back to sleep. She did not want to move for fear of waking the king; this state of sleep he was in seemed dangerous. His voice was not unlike the tone he used in court when he was ordering executions and punishments. Sansa's teeth chattered. The king's room was even draftier than hers.

"Oh no," said Joffrey, again in that loud, strong tone. "No, no, no, you can't do that. You can't!"

Sansa watched his still form, eyes wide, with his voice ringing in her ears. Never in her life had she seen anyone sleep talk like this; the intensity of it was deceptive. She continued to shiver, contemplating leaving him and fleeing back to her own bed. Perhaps she could fetch a handmaiden to light a fire. At the very least, she'd have blankets—

Joffrey let out a low whimper. "Well, I'm not _trying_ to," he cried out. "Please—I can't do it—I won't—I won't!" He gave a series of short cries and then flipped onto his back, moaning out loudly in distress. He may have been asleep but it seemed he was being plagued by demons, real demons.

At the change in his tone, Sansa's compassion won out. "Joffrey," she said soothingly, moving closer to him. He continued to flail and thrash, whining out words she could not decipher. She reached out slowly and stroked his soft hair, noting that his forehead was covered in perspiration. "Joffrey. My poor Joffrey," she said in a gentle tone, pulling the coverlet aside so he would have some air. He flipped onto his side and Sansa pressed herself against his back, wrapping her arms gently around him. He was soon still, his night terrors seemingly done with. She smoothed his hair and made certain he did not cry out anymore before she allowed herself to get back under the blankets and attempt to go back to sleep.

She awoke bleary-eyed and frightened only hours later to the sound of Joffrey's voice again, but this time he was awake.

"STOP STARING AT ME AND GET OUT!" King Joffrey screeched at her befuddled face. Through tired eyes, Sansa observed his dangerous expression before he leaned over her. He grabbed her by the arm and roughly tugged at her, his eyes dark with malice.

"Joff—are you—what is wrong? What did I _do?_" Sansa bleated, trying to get up as fast as she could. She ran her hands nervously through her disheveled hair.

"GET OUT!" Joffrey snarled. "Honestly, you are so _stupid!" _

"I don't understand," Sansa replied quietly, her knees shaking as she tried to collect herself. "How did I anger you? You—you _asked _me to stay—"

"I woke up with you squeezing me like you were trying to suffocate me!" Joffrey said, looking absolutely furious. "I don't want you touching me like that! Not while I'm asleep! Not when I didn't give permission for you to do so!"

"What?" Sansa asked, mystified. "I—I'm _sorry_, Joffrey—I thought you wanted—"

"I. Don't. Like. Being. TOUCHED," Joffrey hissed, and every word was wound tight with fury. Hot, white, horrible fury.

Sansa whimpered. Where was her Joffrey from last night, the gallant boy who'd promised to be kind if she was good? Where was the poor boy crying out in the night like a lost child? Sansa's heart had ached for him and now, her mind almost snapped with the realization that, like his other moods, those had been temporary masks. She'd failed at keeping Joffrey happy for whatever reason, and now she had to pay. "I have to use something to cover up," she said, holding back the urge to cry. "My gown is ruined, is there something—"

"That really is not my issue," he said with a wave of his hand.

"But if someone sees me, sees how I am dressed—"

Joffrey let out an exasperated sigh and stomped over to his dresser, flinging open several drawers before shoving a winter cloak at her. "Cover up with this. It suppose it would annoy me if another saw you in this way." His lips were knotted into a sneer.

"Thank you, your grace," Sansa said quickly, deciding his formal title was a better choice for now. "Thank you so much." She affixed the garment over herself, hiding her accentuated cleavage and the low-cut back of the bodice. _He was kind enough to spare me that humility. I must be thankful for that at least. _"Will I see you at dinner?"

"I don't know," said Joffrey with a roll of his eyes, and he seemed to make a big point to look away from her, crossing his arms. _Oh no, oh Gods, like when I first came to King's Landing. Have we really gone backward again? What did I do, Joffrey? What did I ever do?_ "If I feel like it, I will. If not, I'll see you when I'm ready."

"Yes, your grace," Sansa whispered, bowing her head as she dropped into an obedient curtsy.

"Rise," Joffrey ordered, irritated. "You may leave me now."

Sansa caught a glimpse of herself in the large mirror on the vanity as she left Joffrey's chambers. She looked older than she felt, and her eyes were large and empty. She hurried from the king's hall, down the third staircase and toward the throne room. She passed the dining hall and ran out into the courtyard toward the northern wing of the castle. Once she reentered the castle, tears began to pull at her eyes but she willed them to go away. She did not get to cry, not here. She had to keep running until she reached her room. It would be unwise to cry; it would only hinder her. As Sansa passed the lesson room s, a voice called out:

"Lady Sansa! Lady Sansa! Please!"

She recognized the voice to be Tyrion's and she continued to hurry on through the hall, her heartbeat racing. The last thing Sansa wanted to do was be seen and spoken to. The tears might occur, and then what? She'd have to make up another lie.

"Lady Sansa, please, my legs are not long enough to properly pursue you! Do take a moment to speak to me!"

Tyrion's tone was jovial enough but she pitied his words, and she halted in her tracks to slowly turn to face him. He was breathing hard and came walking from a few paces back. He must have been in the side hallway. Why he'd be out this early in the north wing, Sansa had no idea. She only wished to be alone and to sleep the day away. _As though Queen Cersei would ever allow that to occur._ "My lord," Sansa said politely, hoping she'd adequately masked the waver that still hung in her voice. "I'm very sorry. I did not hear you!" _Another lie, though a small one. _

"Lady Sansa! No apology needed, my dear girl!" the little lord said, panting, and when he reached her he bent over and clung hard to his knees. "I am only relieved to have located you!"

"Relieved, my lord?" Sansa asked, puzzled.

Tyrion nodded, swiping a hand though his blond locks as he finally caught his breath. "To my understanding, you never made it to your chambers last evening."

Sansa felt her face pale and she shrugged, clutching Joffrey's fur-lined cloak closer to herself. "Why would you notice such a thing?" she burst out, her voice coming out much harsher than she'd intended.

Tyrion looked somewhat uncomfortable but Sansa wondered if she was only imagining it. "As Hand of the king, I must be knowledgeable of such matters," he responded, but he did not meet her eyes. "Where have you been? I was worried for you, Lady Sansa—"

"I only wished to take a walk this morn before breaking fast. It felt like a nice idea."

Tyrion raised his scraggly brows high, which made his mismatched eyes more apparent. "Alone? Lady Sansa, you know well enough that is not a nice idea in the least. It is not safe for you to be by yourself—"

"I needed time to myself," Sansa said quickly, feeling this lie morphing into a much larger beast than she had intended. "Anyway, I only left a short time ago—"

"But Lady Sansa, you have been gone since midnight," Tyrion pressed, and though his voice was gentle she heard an inquisitive tinge to it. _But how does he know? The only person who cares where I'm off to is Shae, and what would Shae want with Lord Tyrion? It makes little sense. Handmaidens do not go around chattering so freely. Unless… _Sansa set her jaw. _Unless the Hound told. _

"I took another walk," she said, narrowing her eyes.

Tyrion's eyebrows raised as far up his short forehead as he could manage. "Another? At nighttime? I shall say it again, Sansa. This is a foolish idea and until now, I have found you to be anything but foolish."

"I am sorry, my lord," Sansa said dutifully with another shrug. _What do I care if you find me foolish? I have worse things to worry about. _

"Please," Tyrion began, and he reached out for her hand. After a second of hesitation, Sansa put on a small smile and allowed his touch. "Please," he continued, clasping his hands over hers, "take caution. At least alert someone to keep watch over you. Usually, the Hound is advised of such happenings. Although I am not fond of him, nor he of me, and to be quite truthful I find he is a ghastly sort of person, he _will _make certain you are safe. I did see him late last night but he told me he had not spied you anywhere on the grounds. In fact, he also barked at me to mind my business—dreadfully unpleasant sort, but I am used to his crass ways-"

_So it was not the Hound. Then who? Shae? _ She felt anger surfacing for her handmaiden. If this was the case, she would need to have a harsh talk with Shae about keeping in her rightful place. _Shae would not tell Tyrion! Would she? She doesn't even know him. It is not like they've even had one conversation to speak of! _ "The Dog is right," Sansa said loudly, without thinking. "It is no one's business. I went out on my own. I can take care of myself—"

"You know that is not accurate," Tyrion said lightly. "You are in a very unique position here, Lady Stark. You are both the king's bride-to-be, and the only connection we have to the North. You cannot go gallivanting off whenever you please, particularly at odd hours!" He patted her hand.

Sansa drew a breath, thinking it funny how important Tyrion made her seem when in reality, she was treated like a nuisance by nearly every person she came into contact with. "I don't like it," she said stuffily, trying to keep calm. "I don't like everyone knowing where I am, what I am doing. I feel like a caged animal. This place is filled with spies and people always telling me what to do! People always watching!"

"Your grievances are noted," said Tyrion amusedly, letting go of her. "I myself am acting under my king, and when my king's betrothed is suddenly missing, someone around this godforsaken place has to care."

Managing another polite smile, Sansa nodded her head. "Yes, my lord. I do appreciate it. I am safe."

"The queen regent would not have been happy if you had stayed missing any longer," Tyrion said and Sansa felt her heart leap with fear. _Did he tell her? _Thankfully, he answered her question in his next breath: "Thank Gods I located you before informing her."

"Yes, thank the Gods," echoed Sansa, wondering by what strike of luck she hadn't been found in Joffrey's bed. She felt ill. "Goodbye, now, my lord," she said sharply, and turned to leave.

"Forgive the intrusion, but I am going to see you back to your chambers. It would please me to make very certain that you get where you are going."

_So I have no choice, as usual, _thought Sansa, feeling acrimony setting in. Having Joffrey mad at her had made the morning horrible enough, but with Joffrey, she _had_ to be patient and kind. She owed absolutely nothing to the rest of them. "Yes, of course, Lord Tyrion," she said dully, and as they walked toward the corridor that led to her room, Sansa was as quiet as possible. Tyrion seemed to sense her discomfort and did not make conversation, which she was very glad for. She had no wish to be rude. After what seemed like a long while later, they reached Sansa's quarters and she gave a curtsy in gratitude. "Thank you for troubling yourself. I had not meant to make you worry," Sansa said in a quiet voice.

"It was no trouble," Tyrion said, shaking his head and waving his small hands. "Just—be careful in this place. On most days, I have to watch my own back and it is supposed to be my home." His light tone did not match his somber appearance. He gave Sansa a bow and she was halfway to her door when Tyrion cleared his throat. "My lady," he said in a curious sort of way. "Does that cloak belong to my nephew?"

"Yes," Sansa said before she could decide how to explain it, and then she forced a laugh. "Yes, it is a funny story—"

Lord Tyrion squinted and cocked his head to the side. "I can only imagine. Joffrey does not make a habit of lending out his clothing. Believe me on this. Once I watched in sick fascination as he ripped a riding coat off Tommen. I asked him at the time if he was only bitter his brother looked handsomer in gold—"

It sounded like a joke but Sansa did not acknowledge it. She was too focused on her fib. "The king had to give me something to cover up. This was quite some time ago and I remembered today I ought to give it back which is why I was wearing it. To remind myself," Sansa put in quickly, but the more she babbled, the less believable it sounded. Internally, she damned herself. She needed to become better at deceit.

"He lent you the cloak to cover yourself," Tyrion said slowly. "To cover you from what?" His voice rose slightly and he stepped forward. "Did he order you to be beaten again? Did he do this when I was absent from court?" The little lord's eyes flashed, and he looked angrier than Sansa had seen.

Sansa slowly shook her head from side to side. "No," she whispered. "No, he hasn't had me beaten in since then. In court." She cringed, realizing her slip.

"But he has in other places?" Tyrion demanded. "Has he ordered you beaten somewhere more private? Somewhere far away from who he perceives as the prying eyes, the smashers of his _fantastic_ ideas?" The little man's voice was caustic and Sansa found herself backing up.

"Joff has done nothing to harm me," she said strongly. "Nothing at all. And he didn't wish to harm me that time, either. He was punishing me because my brother Robb helped to slay his armies. And I understand his reasoning." _ 'Tall tales, tall tales, tall tales,' _sang Arya's voice in Sansa's ear. Sansa ignored her. "He gave me this when I was cold." _Mostly true. _

"Ah," said Tyrion but he did not sound impressed. "Are you covering any bruises under that cloak, Lady Sansa?"

_What do you care? Why do you look out for me? You aren't the king. Joffrey is the king and he can do with me as he likes. All I want is for you to leave me be! _

'_Sansa. He's helping you. He might not be all bad, this one. Didn't you used to think he was looking out for you?' _ Arya asked.

_Joff doesn't like him, _Sansa thought, her hands becoming fists at her sides. _And I don't want him asking so many questions. Everyone is watching, and it's like Joff said—we cannot be found out. No one can see us. No one can know, and the Hound already saw. If he tells, who knows what could happen to me? Do you hate me so much you wish me to die?_

'_No. I love you-'_

_Well, then. Shut up and let me do this. You don't know anything. You never did. _

Sansa caught his eyes and stared hard. "No," she said gravely. "No, I am not covering any bruises. Thank you again for escorting me back. I'm sorry I troubled you. It might have not made you look very well if your one last bargaining tool slipped off into the night. My mother and brother wouldn't like that much, would they?"

Tyrion looked slightly embarrassed. "My lady. Please. I do care about your wellbeing—"

"Yes, I'm sure you care _very _much for me. It would be terrible if I was of no use to King's Landing," Sansa said coolly, and Tyrion let her go then, with good reason. Her voice was laced with venom, venom she knew was not really meant for the little lord but it felt good to get the poison out all the same.


	20. Submission and Power

A/N: Thanks again to followers and reviewers.

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Chapter Twenty: Submission and Power

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JOFFREY

..

* * *

The darkness was closing in on him and the only light Joffrey had was the thin strip shining from under the crack in the doorway. He knew the door was locked and as the darkness surrounded Joffrey, the light evaporated like smoke and he was enclosed, all alone. He shouted until he felt his voice go dry, except no sound was coming out of his mouth. He was mute and his legs would not work, and he knew his mother wasn't there to help him. In fact, he had a suspicion something very bad had happened to her —otherwise, he knew she would hear him! Wouldn't she? He tried to call for help again and that was when the hands came. They came twisting through the blackness, pulling softly through his hair and then intertwining around his back. They were soft and careful, and though he did not want to leave he knew he had to. He knew it was dangerous…

Joffrey's eyes flashed open and he gasped for air, worried that he'd be unable to breathe, that he'd be silent forever and that the darkness would consume him. He drew several panicked breaths and realized with some relief that sunlight was streaming through the windows of his chambers. He was not in that room and he had been having a nightmare. It had been some time since Joffrey last remembered a dream in such specific detail. It had been very familiar, so realistic that he still felt as though he were there even as his eyes adjusted to the light. _The empty room_. _The hands in the dark._ He was absolutely sure he'd had this nightmare before and he continued to breathe, trying to take hold of reality again.

But as he began to collect himself, the panic set in yet again as he noticed that the hands had not disappeared. There was an arm draped around his neck, tight around him like a noose. Another was snaked around his waist, the hand against his thigh, fingers all fanned out. _Is this my nightmare_? _ Was it real_?

"No!" Joffrey yelped, his heart pounding, and he wrenched out of the hands' grasp. He whipped around, eyes wide, his skin crawling. Joffrey's heartbeat stopped racing as he saw Sansa sleeping, her crimson hair covering her face and her open lips slightly pursed. _Red hair, _Joffrey thought frantically and although his eyes saw that it was Sansa Stark, the girl he very well might be falling in love with, his body shook with fear and ire mixed.

He surveyed her face, but even her familiarity did not quell his instant anger. _Sansa. Yes, it is Sansa. Calm down. It's only Sansa, _he thought, slightly put at ease as he recalled last night's events in a short visual flash: the Hound disobeying Joffrey in the courtyard, Sansa's obedience, his rescue of her and then the dismissal of the Hound. _ And then- I wanted her to lie by my side, _he remembered. He'd asked her to stay the night.

He tried to reason with himself but his skin still began to feel feverishly hot where her hands had been gripping him. Last night, having his betrothed by his side seemed like a comforting idea. Now Joffrey hated that he'd obviously fallen asleep before Sansa had. How could he know what had happened? With some mortification, Joffrey noticed his groin was hard, tenting the material of his breeches. This was not out of the ordinary. Joffrey awoke nearly every morning this way, but his anxiety grew as he wondered wildly if she'd felt his hardness. What if her fanned fingers had stroked his erection while he slept, unaware and out of control? Completely submissive.

Could he trust Sansa not to touch him while he slept? Mother had once said he could not trust a soul. She said he was justified in being suspicious of everyone after what had happened so long ago (that darkness, that lump of confusing, shadowy memories). Joffrey wanted very much to trust Sansa, though his heart began racing again. His mouth curled into a deep grimace and he tore the blankets from Sansa. Her eyes fluttered open. He had the urge to slap her stupid face.

"Get out of here. NOW!" he snarled, his rage igniting at Sansa looked around the room, appearing confused. Her breasts were accentuated by her bodice but Joffrey blocked them out. He did not wish to be attracted to Sansa right now. He wanted to loathe her with everything inside him, even as she blinked at him and let her face contort into an expression of utmost fear that would have otherwise excited him deeply. Now, his hardness deflated with his strong hatred. "STOP STARING AT ME AND GET OUT!"

Sansa soon jumped to attention as Joffrey reprimanded her for touching him, and she apologized profusely. Joffrey was not satisfied even though he wanted to trust her very much. He just _couldn't. _ Joffrey's body was shaking with anger by that point and he seethed even after she was gone. _Honestly, I shouldn't have to tell her this! She should know better than to put her hands on me without my orders. Mother told me I am strong, that I am a man and men take control. She said I would never be treated as such ever again and that when I had a lady, it would be normal. That I would be in charge. I had to tell her once not to touch me! That should have been enough!_

He paced his chambers, feeling dirty and itchy. He slapped books off his dresser. He kicked the bedposts and tossed his bedding to the floor, stomping on it. His thoughts became an angry, blank blur that he could not control and he tried desperately to shove both the nightmare and Sansa's prying hands into the back of his mind.

A quiet knock sounded from Joffrey's bedroom door that made him pause. "I wish to be left alone!" he growled in a sharp voice.

"Y-y-your grace—I simply wish to bring your breakfast," came a girl's trembling voice from behind the door.

A smirk grew on Joffrey's face. "Well, then," he said, his voice twisting with fake kindness. "Do come in."

She entered and curtsied, clumsily placing his pewter breakfast platter on the end table near his chaise. Joffrey smirked at her pathetic appearance. He'd never seen this maid before. She was definitely new, and he already hated the look of her, the body like a rotting pear and naïve eyes with a voice made up of rabbits' dying screams.

"King Joffrey—I am pleased to meet y—"

"What have you brought?" Joffrey interrupted, surveying the tray from his place by the bed. Porridge and scones, as usual. This increased Joffrey's annoyance greatly.

She curtsied again and asked him if he would like her to serve him a cup of tea. Joffrey responded by grabbing the teacup and launching it at the timid maid's ugly face. His own face finally brightened with glee when she let out a surprisingly good shriek.

"Your grace!" the maid cried, trying to shield herself. "Your grace, I can bring you something else—anything else! Just tell me what you wish for!" Joffrey laughed and looked to the platter, deciding what to throw next. A porcelain bowl of porridge and a heaping plate of pastry shattered against the wall just inches from her head. Globs of oats and cream ran down the dark red wall. The maid cried out in protest as Joffrey grabbed the sugar bowl next, aiming it for her face.

"I do not _want_ anything else," Joffrey said quietly with a plastered-on smile, and he pulled back his arm and threw the glass bowl with all of his might. She covered her face just in time for the bowl to bounce off her hands, careening to the floor and breaking into large shards. The twinkling sugar spilt onto the floor like sweet sand. "That alone is worth more than you!" Joffrey hissed, angry the glass had not burst upon her face.

The maid was hyperventilating. "I am sorry, your grace—please, let me go. I'll bring back anything you want—"

"What is your name?" Joffrey asked, one hand on his hip as he scanned her fearful face. _If only she were prettier, this would be more exciting. _

"Anne, your grace—"

"Anne," Joffrey repeated and forced a snide laugh. "A plain name for a plain kitchen girl. I have a request for you, Anne." _Think of something. Think of anything!_

"Anything, your grace," she said in a quavering voice, and curtsied.

_What she lacks in looks she makes up for in obedience, _thought Joffrey. "I wish you to leave my chambers in exactly ten seconds. I shall count down. If I can load an arrow and shoot before that time, I can't promise I won't kill you." The ideas were dropping from his mouth faster than he could keep up. The Hound said Joffrey needed to work on his loading time, but what did the Hound know? Joffrey could prove him wrong.

"Your _grace!" _Anne yelped, standing up from her curtsy immediately. "I'll leave you! I'll leave you at once!"

"NO!" Joffrey snapped as he crossed to his dresser. "On ten, you may leave." He lifted up the crossbow and grabbed a new arrow. "One. Two. Three." He turned the crank as quickly as he could. "Four, five, six." Joffrey fumbled with the arrow, and then loaded it. "Seven, eight, nine, ten, DAMN!" Anne did not hesitate. She ran toward the door and flung it open as Joffrey released the arrow, narrowly missing her and instead ricocheting off the top of the doorframe. His only solace was the sound of the maid's cries as she ran down the corridor. Though he was still full of burning rage, Joffrey's heart beat furiously in his chest and he found himself breaking into loud, inappropriate laughter.

"Joffrey? Joffrey, is everything okay?"

He turned back to the door, still grinning slightly, to see his mother staring at him with a concerned expression. "The maid brought me porridge," Joffrey replied with a small chuckle, gesturing to the heap of china and bits of food all over the walls and floor. "I did not care for it."

Mother raised her eyebrows at him, coming into the room and staring at the mess. After a few moments, she gave a soft laugh. "I just have no idea what to do with you sometimes, Joffrey," she said in a light tone. "If you wished for another breakfast, you could have requested anything you wished for—"

"I was not hungry," Joffrey shrugged. "Besides, it was fun to see her get so upset. She was new and she seems unfit for King's Landing—it really did not take much for me to scare her."

"Oh, Joffrey," Mother said, smiling and shaking her head. "I saw her running through the hallway. She passed me as I was walking. What was it that made you wish to scare her?"

"I'm not feeling so well," Joffrey said shortly, choosing not to directly answer the question. He crossed to his bed and sat upon it. "I think I shall lie down again. You should get someone to clean up my room and bring me a decent breakfast. Something worth eating. And I do not wish to see that girl ever again."

Mother walked forward and sat next to Joffrey on the edge of his bed, putting her hand on his arm. Though he wished she would not touch him right now, he said nothing. "The reason why I have come to see you so very early is that you must attend the small council meeting today. Tyrion will apparently be laying out the plan of attack he has been configuring these past weeks for Stannis' invasion. It should be quite a laugh. As you know, your uncle is no knight and my guess is the plan will be as embarrassing as he is—"

"No," Joffrey said instantly. "I do not wish to attend. I'm exhausted and I just wish to go back to bed. Attend in my stead and give order for any stupid idea to be ignored."

"You must attend as king," said Mother quietly, patting Joffrey's arm, and he pulled away while fixing her with a narrow-eyed stare. "Oh, Joffrey. Please, you just need to attend this one meeting. And it should not take so long, you merely need to make your presence known. You are king-"

"Yes, yes, I am. And so if I declare that I shall stay back from the meeting, I will," Joffrey responded immediately.

Mother's hand was suspended in midair for a few moments before she lowered her hands to her lap. "Is something wrong? You've had such good days lately. I thought the hunting trip would have cleared your mind."

_My Hound betrayed me, _thought Joffrey, _and Sansa needs to learn how to behave around me if she wants us to be happy. _"I feel fine," he said after a moment's hesitation. "But I'm not going there. I'm not. No one can make me!"

"You need to give your opinion on your uncle's advisement of the kingdom-"

"I _need _to do nothing," Joffrey retorted. "I want to be left alone and above all else, I do not want to stare around at the idiotic faces of the council!"

Mother chortled. "I do share your opinion," she said with a small, thin smile. "I am only worried that if you do not attend, Tyrion will pull a foul trick during the battle. I cannot have him misrepresenting our kingdom and besides, you are my sweet boy. I cannot have anything happening to you. I wish for you to be knowledgeable about the plan of attack so that you can prepare yourself. Though I do not want for you to be on the front lines, I do admit that the people need their king."

Joffrey considered this reasoning and he was sorry to admit to himself that his mother was right. If he did not know of the attack methods, he'd be unprepared and could possibly make some error, putting himself in danger. He wanted Stannis' attack to be a test of his bravery, of his skills in battle. Joffrey wanted the people to chant his name when the fight was done with and he wanted to be remembered as a great warrior, a savior to Westeros. "I wish they could just tell me after."

"I know, my son, but this way, you will be able to give your esteemed thoughts," Mother said.

He nodded in agreement before rising. "I must bathe and dress for the day. Do you think I could go to bed after?"

"After the small council meeting, you can do whatever it is you feel like doing, Joffrey." She gave him a look-over, her face slightly concerned. "Are you feeling ill?"

"Not exactly," Joffrey said slowly, leaning against the poster of his bed and staring past Mother. "It was the dream," he said after a moment's silence.

Mother cleared her throat and Joffrey noticed she averted her eyes. "Which dream is that, my love?"

"You know," Joffrey said. "It's started again, Mother and I don't wish for it to continue like this. I preferred it when I dreamt nothing. I hate these kinds of dreams. I wake up tired and I wish they would go away. They're so real—"

"They are _not_ real," said Mother crisply. "Everyone has bad dreams, at least once in a while—"

"But they remind me," Joffrey said, his voice dropping to a low tone as he turned away from his mother, focusing instead on the boar's head on the wall. The open mouth with gnarled teeth and the beady eyes that followed you from place to place. No matter where you walked to in the room, the boar seemed to see you. "You said I'd forget but I haven't. Sometimes I come close, but then something happens, like the nightmares or some odd feeling and—"

"Stop," Mother said in a sharp voice, and then more softly, "please, stop. It only hurts me to hear you speak this way. You are passed all of that business now. You are nearly sixteen and you are a brilliant, strong, brave boy. Soon, you'll be married to Sansa and you will enjoy a perfect life with her. She will bear your sons, and you will be happy. Normal."

Joffrey nodded. As usual, he wanted very much to believe his mother but in the back of his mind, he was all too aware that he was a bit different from others when it came to making love. He wished he could think of a word to describe how he felt about all of it but it was a blurred darkness, just like the recurring nightmare of the hands. Joffrey was still fearful that one day he would wake up and it would be his reality again, that his body would be unprotected and he would be in danger. He would dare not mention to his mother that he had already had relations with Sansa Stark, nor did he mention that it was difficult for him to enjoy fucking her unless she squealed in pain or trembled in fear. He had never brought up his fantasies to anyone else, the thoughts of screaming girls in ropes, strung up high with wide eyes and swinging feet. This was second nature to Joffrey. What disturbed him far more was the fact that he was actually beginning to care too much for Sansa. He wanted to believe she could not affect him the way the nightmares did, but he was worried.

. . .

Joffrey sighed aloud, drumming his hands on the table. Lord Varys turned to look at him, and Uncle Tyrion ceased in blabbering. "Yes, your grace? Is there something you wish to inquire?" Tyrion asked, his voice heavy with annoyance. "Gods be good, I do hope you have something useful to say."

Joffrey glowered. "How dare you!" he spat, and turned to his mother. "Why does he get to speak to me like that? This is _my _council. _My _castle. _My _battle!"

"If this is your battle," Tyrion began, "then please do grace us with your ideas of attack. I am so desperate for a stable plan, I may even agree to one of your ludicrous suggestions. Of course, mutilating babies is out of the question—"

"Tyrion!" snapped Mother. "You ought not speak to the king in such a manner—"

"Yes, this is most troubling," Maester Pycelle said, his shaky voice wavering highly. "Lord Tyrion, this is your king!"

"He is, as you all know, also my nephew," Tyrion said. "I am merely expressing my frustrations." He sighed and ran his hand through his curls of hair. "What is it you actually wanted to say, your grace?"

Joffrey sat up a bit straighter. "I'm hungry," he said in a loud voice. "When will this be over?"

"Oh, seven _hells,_" Tyrion lamented. "I only just began to detail our very concerning issue of having half our army in the—"

"I heard you," snapped Joffrey at once. "I want something to eat and I wish to go to bed. I'm bored with you and I cannot look upon you for another second."

"Well, by all means, let us call for more wine and a plateful of pigeon pies! It appears we will be here for quite awhile!" Tyrion shouted in a falsely merry way, and the servant near the door bowed his head and was about to leave when Mother snapped her fingers.

"Deliver the pies and wine to King Joffrey's chambers. He has had a very stressful morning and he needs to depart from the small council meeting."

"Cersei, you cannot be serious," Tyrion said, his eyebrows raised as the servant departed. "It is important that Joffrey know what to do during the battle! He still does not understand the insanity in tugging around his crossbow! Do you really wish your darling son to be killed ten seconds into the battle?"

Mother turned to glare deeply at Uncle Tyrion. "My son is a brave fighter—"

"He is a young boy who has never seen a real war—"

"Silence," Mother barked. "His grace has been very clear about his needs. And given that you have a rather unclear vision, I personally do not see the harm in allowing him his much needed rest. After all, our king does need to be in his very best shape—"

"My vision would not be so unclear if I could go uninterrupted! If I could—"

"I said, _I'm hungry," _Joffrey whined, crossing his arms. "I am departing the meeting. Uncle, you need to give me instruction on your plan for attack when I am ready for it. Maybe tomorrow afternoon, or the day after—"

"Your grace, Stannis sails toward our harbor at this very moment! He is not so far away! Are you more inept than I had previously assumed?" Tyrion inquired.

Pycelle gasped. "The manner in which you are addressing his grace is most unnecessary!"

Joffrey agreed though he thought it amazing Pycelle could even hear Tyrion.

"Apologize to my son," Mother said. "Apologize to your king."

"I do not conform to lunacy, even familial lunacy," said Tyrion crisply. "If King Joffrey must retire, so be it. It will, after all, save me my patience. And then maybe the queen regent will perform the honorable task of enlightening our ruler as to his duties on the field of battle."

Joffrey jumped to his feet, glad to be done with the small council meeting. He could not focus on anyone's words and the time spent with the council was, as usual, a dull blur. And still, his mind kept going back to his nightmare. Though he was tired, he was a bit nervous that sleep would coax the eerie dreams back.

Tyrion cleared his throat. "Before you depart, your grace, I do have an unrelated matter to discuss. I spoke to Lady Sansa this morning and she has informed me of her recent occupation of walking about the castle grounds on her own. I did bring to her attention that this is a dangerous act and she seemed to be unconcerned. She is in a foul mood about her position as a political hostage, to put it very lightly. I believe the girl understands more than we have given her credit for. I believe we should perhaps grant the girl a bit of privilege. Perhaps a new hobby or two should be permitted? She does appear to do the same tedious activities every day."

"Sansa does not think herself a political hostage," Joffrey countered, hands on his hips. "Sansa Stark is loyal to me as my betrothed, my future queen and she does not find King's Landing tedious in the least—"

"Spoken like a true optimist," Tyrion said. "I told myself such lies once about a young woman and I must confess to you how disappointed I was when I learned the truth—"

"Don't you _dare _compare yourself to my son!" Cersei hissed and slammed her hands on the wooden table. Pycelle jumped and Lord Varys stared up at the ceiling. "You have _never _had a situation like Joffrey! Lady Sansa is doing her duty! Lady Sansa will make Joffrey a good and honest wife, and she will keep her mouth closed which is more than I can ever hope for you—"

"Lady Sansa plays this game better than you give her credit for," Tyrion replied in a curt voice. "With his grace's permissions, I would like to allow Sansa to spend more time with the ladies of court or perhaps employ a new tutor for her. She deserves to be stimulated whilst in the capitol, waiting to marry the king—"

Joffrey stared. _What is Tyrion on about? Did Sansa complain this morning? _

"I thought the focus should be on Stannis and the impending battle," said Mother at once. "And now you are concerned with the frivolous habits of a young girl?"

"My concern is she will become difficult," Tyrion responded and Joffrey watched him, fuming. "Sansa has not been treated well here and it bodes ill for us!"

"Did you speak to her directly on this matter? Did Sansa say she was bored?" Joffrey snarled.

Tyrion ran his hand through his hair again. "She did not, your grace. I am merely—"

"I want more security in place around Sansa's quarters. I want Meryn to patrol her hallway and I want her to stay confined to her chambers for the time being. She is _mine _and I do not wish for her to be amongst others! I want Sansa kept safe and I want her to look to me for her company! Her handmaidens should be allowed to dress and bathe her, to bring her meals, and then to leave her be at once. If she finds the capitol so tedious, I will show her what is tedious!" Joffrey shouted.

There was a thick bit of silence before Tyrion sighed. "At least you have a strong opinion on something, even if it is the wrong opinion…" he mumbled.

But Joffrey was not to be stopped. "If I wish for Sansa's company, I shall call for it! If I do not arrange for her to meet with me, she will stay locked away! She is mine and no one else's!"

"You are suddenly quite passionate about Lady Sansa. I suppose this is a step above not caring if she is defiled on the streets of Westeros and left to rot," Tyrion said.

"I am _not _passionate about her! I want her to be so lonely she will beg for my attention!" Joffrey declared and stomped his foot. "This is an order!"

Tyrion gave a dark chortle and rubbed his temples. "No. This is _ridiculous_," he said quietly. "Cersei, are you going to sit quietly and allow this behavior? Your son is clearly unconcerned with the state of the capitol yet he is entirely obsessed with making his poor betrothed's life as wretched as possible!"

"Being kept on her own will be for Lady Sansa's good," Mother said, and nodded at Joffrey. "After all, if Lady Sansa has taken to gallivanting about on her own, we might very well lose hold on our tie to the North and that would not be ideal."

"Yes, it would be rather difficult if anything King Joffrey decided to decree were to upset the North," Tyrion commented dryly.

Lord Varys coughed quietly into his hand.

"It will be made so," Joffrey said with a brisk nod. With that, he retired to his chambers, eager to rest his troubled mind. He was not entirely certain why he wanted to punish Sansa. On one hand, there was really no reason to it. But if he thought a bit harder (and he could not help but ruminate as he ate one of the miniature meat pies that had been dropped off in his room), he knew it had something to do with the darkness and with power. Sansa may not have been the reason why he felt so out of control, yet he was sure if he kept his hold on her tight and strong, she would never be able to hurt him.


	21. By Order of King Joffrey

Chapter Twenty-One: _By the Order of King Joffrey_

* * *

..

SANSA

..

"My lady," Shae burst out as soon as she closed and locked Sansa's door, looking like she might drop the linens she held tightly in her arms. "You are safe! I was very worried! Where were you? I waited and waited last night for you but you did not come to bed! Tell me, my lady!" She rushed to Sansa, her dark eyes large.

But Sansa stared her down coldly, her blue eyes hard as ice. "Answer me at once, Shae, and if you deceive me, I will know it!" she shouted, standing up from the rocking chair near her bed.

"Answer what, Lady Sansa?" asked Shae in a confused way, arching her eyebrows. For the first time since their meeting, Sansa had the urge to pull her hair, to slap her pretty olive-colored cheeks. Shae's ignorance was obnoxious and Sansa was not in the mood to play any games she did not have to.

"Did you alert Lord Tyrion to my absence in my chambers?" Sansa asked, her teeth gritted. She'd been mulling away at this for the past hour, her stomach still flipping both from her bewildering interactions with the king and with the conversation with the Hand. Shae looked down for one second, but it was enough for Sansa to become increasingly irate. She charged forward, breathing hard, unsure of her next move. "Did you, Shae? Answer me! Answer me now!" Inches from Shae's nose, Sansa stared at her intensely. Sansa's legs were quivering and her arms shaking slightly. "ANSWER ME NOW!"

"My lady, please!" Shae proclaimed. "What is the meaning of this? What happened? Where were you?"

Unsure of how to answer, of how to begin, Sansa's eyes glazed over. It all seemed far away, like a nightmare. "With my king," she said.

"That I know!" Shae said, and she set the linens on the set of drawers near the doorway. "What has he done to you?"

"Joffrey?" Sansa barked. "Joffrey did nothing! After he called me to his chambers, the Hound interrupted us." _Not exactly true, but it will do. _"The Hound pressed his self to me, Shae, and he kissed me. He nearly had me on the floor but Joffrey did not allow it!"

"_My lady_!" Shae said, but Sansa had no time for her handmaiden's sympathies any more. It had all become too real.

"We shared Joffrey's bed after. Nothing beyond him holding me. He protected me, Shae. But..." Sansa was going to include the detail about Joffrey's disturbing sleeping habits. She thought better of it, wanting them to have a secret between them. Joffrey would likely hate it if she told anyone about his screaming in the night. "In the morning, it was as though it had never happened. I thought Joffrey would forgive me all my sins and then this morning he screamed at me as though we'd shared nothing. I cannot risk my life, Shae! Did you tell Tyrion?"

"No," Shae said, yet she did not meet Sansa's eyes.

"Do _not _lie to me, Shae!" Sansa said. "You of all people! Please, please, do _not lie._"

"I… I gave no details," Shae replied, drawing in air. "Lord Tyrion came. Asked where you were. How could I?… he came, and-"

"Why would he come by my chambers at night?" Sansa hissed.

Shae clenched her teeth. "He…" she trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Don't lie to me, Shae! I saw you look away! I need one honest person in this terrible place!" Though her body shook and her voice wavered, Sansa was very aware that she was not going to cry. She was too angry and exhausted to cry. "He caught up to me as I was returning here. He said he'd been informed I was missing. So did you or did you not tell him?"

Shae hesitated again and Sansa, filled with vitriol, slapped her hard across the face. Sansa bit her lip, feeling sorry for this action, but helpless all the same. Shae's tan face pinked as she stared hard at Sansa, her lips pursing into a solemn frown. "Yes," Shae said in a dead tone. "Yes, my lady. I told the lord hand you were missing and that I was worried for you."

"Why, Shae?" Sansa shouted. "Why! He told me he could have passed it on to the queen regent! He could have found me in Joffrey's bed! Would you have been happy then, Shae?"

"I would never say a word about King Joffrey," Shae replied quietly, all familiarity gone from her normally warm and musical drawl. "I would hope you'd know such a thing, Lady Sansa. You told me yourself and I know it, too. That would be treason. Tyrion badgered me for an answer and all I told him was that he should mind his own business. I told him that women have to take care of themselves in ways he would not understand and when he asked how that pertained to you, I told him to leave you alone. I defended you, my lady. Believe that. Tyrion should not have reacted as such but he does feel a certain guilt for his family's actions, and he despises his nephew."

Sansa stared, mouth open. _A handmaiden telling the lord hand to mind his own business? With opinions on the lord's actions? What sort of handmaiden have I been given, Gods help me! I thought Shae would keep me safe!_

"Why?" Sansa said again, but this time her voice was small and her face befuddled. "Why would you do such a thing? How could you talk to Lord Tyrion like that? Like an equal!"

There was a moment of a silence as thick as clotted cream. What came after shocked Sansa to her core.

"Because I am in love with Tyrion and he _views_ me as his equal," Shae said plainly. She stared at Sansa, almost as if daring Sansa to challenge her. "Because I am his whore. It is time you knew this, Lady Sansa."

"You are what?" Sansa demanded in disbelief. A whore? _Not Shae! Shae is my friend, Shae works in the castle. Shae and that funny little man! There is no chance!_ "I told you, no lies!" Though, it was interesting how much Shae knew about men. Shae, after all, had been much more informative about how to avoid becoming with child after Sansa had bled when the queen regent had only lectured on the importance of bringing royal children into the world. _But a whore? It cannot be! Especially with Lord Tyrion. _

" No lies," Shae said. "You have told me your secret and I shall tell you mine. He is my lover and I am his, and while we made love I spilled my worries to him. I said you had not returned and I felt you might be sinking here. I only needed to tell someone who cared, but he reacted strongly, you could say—"

Sansa gave a short laugh, unsure of what to say. "I don't know what to think! It cannot be true, Shae!"

"I will not tell him about the king. You have made me swear this and I do not want to betray you-"

"You already have!" Sansa said, and she laughed again, though she did not find the situation amusing in the least. The laugh was short and cold. Unfriendly. "You're... his _whore? _How could-"

"What matters is I did not betray you," Shae said, firmer still. "Tyrion has been pressing me for information. He tries to know what has been going on with you and if you are being treated appropriately by his nephew. I tell him my job is to keep my head down, especially since King Joffrey has noticed me now. But still, Tyrion wishes to know."

"What does he care?" Sansa scoffed. "He has been kind enough to me, but he's a Lannister like all the rest! He will do me harm in the end! Joff hates him. They have a terrible relationship. I can't- you're in love with _Tyrion?"_

"Joff?" Shae asked, looking mystified. "A pet name for the king?"

"You shouldn't speak to me that way," Sansa snarled, eyes wild. "You shouldn't ask me anything. Not anymore! How can I trust you?"

"Lady Sansa, please listen to me. I will never spill secrets to Tyrion. I never meant to hurt you and he would not alert the king, even if he figured it out. Tyrion does not want you to get hurt-"

"I know," Sansa said hotly. "Because just like the queen, Lord Tyrion believes I am too valuable. He does not want me, the bargaining piece for the North, to go missing. I know how they feel about me, Shae! Queen Cersei does not want me hurt or sick, for I have had my blood. And Joffrey's dog acted like he cared. He acted like he was trying to give me advice but Joffrey was right all along! The Hound only wanted me for himself!" She drew a shuddering breath, and though Shae's look was still hard, Sansa swore she saw it soften, if only a bit. Sansa went on, realizing it was all making much more sense to her. "For all of his faults, at the very least, King Joffrey is kind to me sometimes. He may be hot and cold. He may be cruel. But I do believe his word that he will protect me if I do not cross him, Shae. I have to hold onto that, because I do not have anything else! I do not even have you!"

Shae sighed. "You _have _me, my lady. I may just not be who you thought, but you have me. Please do not let the king change your thinking. He is not your Joff. He is bad, Sansa." Shae's voice dropped to a whisper, and Sansa had to struggle to listen. "He has you beaten. He treats you like a toy he can play with when he wants-"

"Don't speak like a traitor," Sansa whimpered, wringing her hands in her skirts. "Please don't, Shae, you have to listen. He's not bad, he's not bad- he saved me from the Hound! He gave me this cloak because I ripped my dress. He showed me kindness. He did not have me struck, even when I was awful. I almost went behind his back, Shae, and I wouldn't do that again!"

"Lady Sansa!" Shae said in shock. "Where is this coming from? He had your father killed! He speaks openly about wanting to kill your family! How can you-"

"I have nothing else!" Sansa shouted. "Listen to me! My father was a traitor and Joffrey is to be my husband!"

"With me you don't have to do this!" Shae snapped. "Lady Sansa, please- I'm not everyone else-"

"I think you're _just _like everyone else," said Sansa icily. "I will be queen and I cannot afford to trust you if you were so dishonest with me about Lord Tyrion. How should I go about dealing with _that?"_

"It is a secret, a secret much like your own," Shae said quickly, suddenly seeming to recognize the seriousness of what she had confessed. "My lady, you mustn't tell the king, you mustn't tell anyone-"

"Joffrey will be my husband and you expect me to keep secrets from him," Sansa said, her tone cold. "You've put me in a terrible position, Shae. Not only did you tell about me to Tyrion, you're wishing for me to keep your filthy secret? I cannot believe I took advisement from… a whore." Even the word _whore _tasted foul on Sansa's tongue.

"And I cannot believe your words," Shae said hotly, eyes flashing.

"How dare you speak to me like that!" Sansa snapped.

"_My lady," _Shae said curtly. Sansa was about to say something more, to rage against Shae and call her all the names her mother had called back alley women in Winter Fell, when the door rattled savagely with a booming knock. The doorknob turned to and fro.

"Open up!" a man's strong voice shouted from behind the door.

Both women turned to face the racket, falling silent at once. "Who is there?" Shae asked, voice tentative.

"Meryn of the kingsguard!"

Bearing a reproachful look on her face, Shae obediently opened the door, curtsying. By the sneer on Meryn's beared face, Sansa guessed Shae's clumsy attempt at propriety did not endear her to him. "You. Handmaiden. You are coming with me. By order of King Joffrey, you are to be redistributed to the kitchens as your main task."

"The kitchens?" Shae asked boldly. _Why? _Sansa thought, trying to piece it all together. Her brain felt like it was flitting about. _Why does Joffrey wish me to lose Shae as my maid? _

"If you've a complaint, I can certainly see if your assistance is needed cleaning horse shit in the stables," Meryn snorted.

"Why the kitchens? I am Lady Sansa's maid. I must be by her side. The room needs cleaning. Her hair needs brushing. She needs her breakfast, ser."

"Questioning my order is thereby questioning his grace King Joffrey," Meryn said gruffly, standing tall.

"I want to know why," Shae said, crossing her arms. Sansa's heart thumped, though she too wished to know the answer. _Shut up, Shae. You stupid idiot! Joffrey has ordered this and you must obey. _The answer was not worth disobeying Joffrey.

Meryn looked slightly uncomfortable by Shae's attitude. He shuffled his feet. "Because," he began, "because I am told Lord Stannis sails closer to the shore of Westeros and Lady Stark must be kept safe. She must have as little contact with the outside as possible. By order of King Joffrey." It was clear by his wilting tone that he had not been told much about the situation. "Lady Stark will have several maidens now, and none will stay with her for over an hour. If you are lucky, girl, you will come back later to scrub the chamber pot. For now, you'll away with me."

_Stannis? Stannis will be here soon! _

Shae dipped her head but flashed Sansa a look. "I shall be trustworthy. And quiet," Shae said. "And I hope, my lady, with all my heart, that you should be the same."

"What in the seven hells are you speaking about? Come on with you," barked Meryn.

"My lady?" Shae inquired.

Ser Meryn looked between them, and so Sansa stared ahead.

"King Joffrey told me to use force if necessary as long as I tell him about it when I report to him," Meryn snapped, and he clutched Shae by the material of her sleeve. "_Come, _girl!"

Shae's worried eyes scanned Sansa's face, but Sansa could not allow any emotion to seep in. _Joffrey wishes this to happen, _she told herself as Shae was dragged out of the room, Meryn hoisting her effortlessly in one burly arm. _And so it must be._

_**. . . **_

Later that afternoon, Sansa began to think hard about the day's busy happenings. Shae was not who she said she was, and Sansa felt tricked. Not to mention, she now held the weight of Shae's secret on her shoulders. Although they had argued, Sansa wished she had more information. How long had Shae been a whore? Was she _really _in love with Lord Tyrion and if so, how long had this been going on? The new knowledge frightened Sansa because she had not heard Joffrey mention it; even though he'd looked right at Shae, he'd acted as if he'd never met her in his life. That likely meant King Joffrey had absolutely no idea Shae and Tyrion were involved together. Sansa had a deep, sick feeling that the news of the pairing would interest Joffrey and if she kept the secret away from him, he'd likely react badly.

_Play stupid, _she told herself as she tried to mend the broken bodice. Sansa was cross with Shae, and confused, but she did not want Shae to get hurt. _Shae did not mean the things she said. No one saw you talking to Shae about the matter and so you must play stupid. Everyone thinks you are a stupid girl, anyway. A stupid little bird. _She shuddered at the Hound's nickname for her, remembering the longing in his dark eyes, the want on his savage face, and his hard groin pressed to her hand. Sansa squirmed, feeling ill. She'd been trying to avoid the thoughts about her encounter with the Hound, and so instead, she daydreamed of Joffrey. She thought about him as the dream- as the boy who'd held her tenderly in his arms as they talked about how they felt for each other. She thought of how his face had lit up as he'd described his ideal wedding, the thousands of guests from afar, the throne room decorated splendidly, and his excitement at how pretty she'd look grasping his arm. Sansa hoped very much Joffrey would dance with her at their wedding. She'd been wishing for that all her life, since she was a tiny girl. She recalled making her dolls dance together as she narrated their actions.

Sansa was focusing on the prospect of dancing to distract herself. She'd become tired of trying desperately to work out why Joffrey would redistribute The only solution that made sense was that the castle was preparing for Stannis' attack. Likely, Joffrey knew more than he ever said. She'd also received word from Ser Boros that Joffrey did not wish her to dine with the Lannister brood. She was to take each meal in her room and she was instructed to never leave her chambers. Not for anything, unless accompanied by the kingsguard or King Joffrey himself. It seemed odd that Joffrey would wish her to be so isolated, but she supposed he wanted to keep her safe.

At least, that's what she tried to tell herself. In the back of her mind, she had other thoughts she could not utter aloud. She was wondering if maybe King Joffrey was afraid Stannis would siege the castle, and if that was why he was keeping Sansa locked away. It would make sense and Sansa felt she should feel a bit of excitement at the thought that perhaps Stannis would claim the throne. That had not been on her mind in weeks. _If Stannis takes away the iron throne, the Lannisters and King Joffrey will likely be slain. But I am not married to Joffrey, not now. I am a prisoner in this land and as Lord Tyrion reminded me, I have been unharmed here due to my family ties. Stannis won't kill me, I'm sure of it. Stannis will want me alive for the very same reasons the Lannisters do. I might very well be returned to my Mother, to my siblings. _Sansa was made happy by these thoughts and she anticipated what would happen next yet she felt terribly guilty for it. She shouldn't be plotting against King Joffrey like this.

Furthermore, Sansa found herself feeling a bit numb to the idea of seeing her kin, of returning to Winter Fell. It seemed a very nice idea, but a somewhat ludicrous one all the same. So much had happened that Sansa was afraid she would not know how to act or what to say. She was becoming accustomed to the Southern way, and though she felt strange admitting it to herself, she could not see a future for herself beyond being Queen Sansa, King Joffrey Baratheon's wife.

**. . . **

A day went by, then two days. Three, and she was still being kept to her chambers. Sansa had a new handmaiden for each part of her day, though the women only stayed with her for very short periods of time and they set their jaws and did not speak. The days proved long and lonely, and Sansa spent them gazing out the window and wondering if she'd soon go mad. Three nights later, she slept in her bed and dreamed of Winter Fell, though in her vision, it was a blurry land that she hardly knew. Her family was there but they had no faces, only gaping mouths that widened and shut without sound. They hugged and held Sansa, which was nice. But their silence unnerved her. She was happy to see her father was there, except he did not have a head, only a stub of a neck, all veiny and spattered with red.

_"My lady."_

Sansa awoke with a start, crying out into the night. Someone was leaning over her.

"What were you dreaming? My poor lady. Poor, poor Sansa." It was King Joffrey, whose voice was neither comforting nor cold. In fact, he sounded a bit amused, his voice nasally and high. Sansa stared into darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust. She smelled the strong scent of wine before she could see Joffrey's face. The day's wine usually gave his mouth a light kiss of slight sweetness that hung around him pleasantly like the good-smelling musk of his clothes. Tonight, the stench overpowered Sansa, harsh and nauseating. It was clear Joffrey had been drinking more than his typical share.

"Your grace," she whispered, trying to avoid breathing him in too deeply. "What are you doing here?"

"Joffrey, Joffrey," he responded in that odd high-spirited way. "How many times should I have to tell you? Call me Joffrey." When her eyes finally made him out, she could see the curve of a smile on his narrow, pale face. His eyes were shining in the dark. "So what were you dreaming?" he asked again, and he crossed to the table near the window sill where the remnants of Sansa's evening tea remained. The new handmaidens were not nearly as attentive as Shae. "May I finish this?" he asked, as he poured himself a cup of wine from the chalice there. He did not wait for an answer, instead drinking deeply from it. There was a watery _slopping _sound as wine splashed onto the floor. Joffrey strode back to the bed, slamming the cup down on her nightstand. To Sansa's revulsion, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Tell me what you dreamed," he said after, and stared at her.

"I was dreaming about you," she said at once, watching as he sunk onto the edge of her bed.

"Good," Joffrey said, gripping her blanket to steady himself. He crossed one spindly leg over the other. "You missed me? Say you missed me. I shall be sad if you haven't thought of me," he jabbered.

"I've thought of little else," she said without hesitation, although the his words slightly surprised her. _What are you doing here? Why are you drinking so much? Please, please, be kind to me. I'll say anything you wish, but please be sweet._

"Me either, obviously," he said with a little snort of a laugh. Sansa was not certain what was obvious. When it came to King Joffrey, nothing was _obvious. _He ran a hand down her leg through the material of the blanket and she shivered, sitting up. Joffrey clasped her hands strongly and shook his head. His blond curls of hair shook around his forehead. "My...lady...I haven't yet seen battle. I've killed stags. And wild pigs and I've snapped the necks of birds and cats without any weapons. All on my own. I've cut off the legs of dogs. I can kill things. You see. I can kill."

Sansa watched him with great caution, all of her senses alive and completely awake now. "Oh," she said weakly. "That's very good, your- Joffrey." _What am I supposed to say to that? Gods, please let me live. Please. _

_"UncleTyrionsaysnotgoodenough," _Joffrey blurted out, all one word, and Sansa had no idea what he'd uttered. "What if I should die, what then? My mother is afraid and I don't wish to fail, but they told me… They told me today the plans, and it's too hard."

"You won't die, my brave king," Sansa said after a moment of consideration, trying to figure out what his point was, what his thoughts were. "What makes you think you'll fail, Joffrey?" she asked, and her voice shook.

"Oh, I've missed you," he said, and he was suddenly smirking again. He teetered a bit, then began climbing over her and threading his hands in her hair. He pulled her locks a bit. Sansa tried hard not to cough at the heavy smell of the red wine. "You'll be good, won't you? You won't be bored of me?"

"I'd never be bored of you, Joff," Sansa whispered, shuddering, wondering how much he'd punish her if she plugged her nose. At least _that _was not a lie—how could Joffrey bore her, of all things? She tried to speak as calmly as she could and she looked him directly in the eyes. "I'm trying to be good. I've done nothing wrong."

"Sometimes... When I'm with you, I begin to remember things that make me afraid," Joffrey said, his eyes flicking about the room. "That's funny, isn't it? Because my mother said once I had a proper betrothed, I'd get normal. She was wrong." He laughed, sounding unhinged. "But oh, I'll still try, because I really, really did miss you. I'll keep you in this room and no one will have you but me. Would that make you happy?" His lips met hers in the stale darkness, and the kisses he deposited upon her were wet and eager, leaving a line of spittle across Sansa's cheek. She grimaced. "Would it?" he hissed, and he grabbed her by the chin, his nails digging in.

Sansa cried out. "Yes, yes, so happy, Joff, so happy!" She wanted to ask what he meant about being normal but she knew better than to ask him. _Go inside, go inside, go inside, _she screamed at herself. He released her chin and instead tore her coverlet from her body, leaning over her with an intense look in his bright eyes. Sansa sighed with relief. She'd avoided a punishment and perhaps instead earned a reward.

"I have _really_ missed you," Joffrey said, and he kissed her neck. Then he grasped her nightgown, tearing it down so that he could access her left breast. He lapped at her nipples, moaning loudly and deeply. Sansa's face went red at how lustful he sounded, but then when he grazed her a bit with his teeth, it made her throb with excitement. He dragged his tongue around her right breast and then nibbled her neck, then her collarbone, then pressed his face into the crook of her neck and breathed there, hard.

"Oh, Joffrey, I missed you, too," Sansa whispered, arching her head back, surprised at the low, pleased tone that spilled from her mouth. She knew she had to keep Joffrey satisfied. However, it wasn't as much of a strain this time to feign enjoyment. Before she could say anything else, he pushed his hand up inside her nightgown and pressed his fingers inside her. Sansa let out a heavy sigh, her legs jolting a bit. At first, his long fingers felt cold. She soon felt herself getting slicker as he continued to bite her neck. His motion inside her sped up and her breathing grew hurried, matching his.

"How's that? How's that, my lady?" Joffrey chanted into her ear, and even though her eyes were shut tight, she could imagine that slight sneer curving on his face, that triumphant smugness. Her core pulsed and throbbed and she groaned aloud, her face warm. She imagined everything was perfect. This was her future husband, her sweet Joffrey and he'd had nothing to drink at all. They'd get through the battle. They'd live and they'd dance on their wedding day and all her family would come to see them.

Joffrey's fingers moved out from inside her and instead spread his fingers, clumsily rubbing the small hood above her privates. Sansa gasped aloud, feeling a sparking feeling that made her stomach do a pleasant turn. The feeling stopped too soon when Joffrey pulled his hand away and instead sunk his teeth into her neck. Sansa bit her lip, trying to suffer through the pain. "I… missed…you," Joffrey said again when he finally let go of her skin, and paused to gulp down more wine. "Tell me you missed me!" he said in a snap and dropped the empty cup to the table. He teetered a bit again and made a slight retching sound.

Sansa hung back, afraid he might get sick.

"Tell me you- _ugh- _missed me!" Joffrey demanded, and his eyes flickered with rage.

"I missed you, too. Of course I missed you, my sweet Joffrey," said Sansa tentatively, not wanting to ignite Joffrey's temper. He responded by shoving his hand back inside her gown and shoving all of it inside her, showing absolutely no mercy. "_God!" _Sansa shrieked, gripping the sheets in shock. Joffrey made a motion as if he were punching the inside of her, his fist sliding in and out. As he did so, it was easier to handle him in there. There was a slick slapping sound that made Sansa blush but Joffrey seemed neither to notice or care.

"My whole hand, my whole... Hand," he said proudly, "I wonder what else would go in there!" Sansa paled at his words. She attempted to lose herself, trying to enjoy it. He continued for a minute more before pulling his hand out and smiling down at her almost as if it was taking work to see her. "You'll love no one else but me. Right?"

"Of course, Joffrey," Sansa said, allowing herself to smile back.

"Good, good," he said and kissed her mouth. When he pulled back, she could see a coat of blood red on his thin lips. "When I kill Stannis, you'll see. You'll see I'm a hero."

"You are a hero, my king," she replied, but Joffrey was no longer listening.

He slid off her and laughed to himself. "And if I think I am going to die, you'll die with me."

Sansa no longer felt at ease. Fear crept back into her system. "Yes, my king," she whispered.

King Joffrey looked back at her groggily. "It would please me to have you now but I think I would…I should…Would do well to rest. But I'll stick it in you soon enough. If we don't die, I'll put my sons in you and you'll make me happy." The last statement sounded angry, like a threat. "Think good thoughts for me, Lady Sansa," he muttered in a voice that was barely audible. He stumbled from the room and slammed the door.

The next few days would change everything, this Sansa knew, and now she was even more frightened then before. Even still, she cringed and put a careful hand between her legs, thinking good thoughts for Joffrey.


	22. Army Dreamers

A/N: So, in order to get certain information across, I've written a conversation in Joffrey's POV chapter that he is present for but unconscious. Apologies if this is confusing, but he does _not _know the chat has taken place. Homeboy don't have a clue. Hopefully this all reads smoothly.

At this point, I'm deviating from the show/books a bit, and will be writing my own dialogue for certain scenes that were portrayed.

Big thanks to my readers. Please review

* * *

Chapter 22: _Army Dreamers _

..

JOFFREY

..

Today, Joffrey supposed, he'd drunk more wine than ever before. Could he even count how many cups? First supper, and then a third cup when Mother had relayed the battle plan (it was less of a plan, and more of a vague sketch of an idea). He'd pretended to be stoic and he'd done well to convince Mother of his composure. After all, it was like she'd said. He was both a stag and a lion and he was a fighter. Brave. Cunning. A natural on the battle field. A strong and able-bodied Baratheon, but with Lannister blood, too. He had his warrior father's traits and also his uncle Jaime's stamina, not to mention Grandfather Tywin's precision. The winning combination of houses. Stannis didn't stand a chance. Joffrey had never liked him anyway. He was a sour man with nothing to offer; all he'd ever done was take Father away on hunting trips. He'd never even cared enough to give Joffrey Name Day gifts or praise other than commenting on how tall he'd gotten. The more Joffrey thought about it, the more he wanted to chop off Stannis' ugly head. He told Mother just that, and together they complained about Tyrion's lack of leadership.

Though, after Mother had left for bed, Joffrey had allowed himself to think about the reality of the battle. _Uncle Imp says there's a chance none of us will live and I wouldn't believe him except Mother told me so and I can tell she was worried even though she acted like she was fine. I cannot die. I am king and if I cannot fight well everyone will laugh. If the city burns, I won't die alone. I'll bring everyone with me, Stannis, too. No one gets the throne, not if I cannot have it! It's mine!, _Joffrey had thought to himself but it was not satisfying. It was becoming too real.

His anxiety had won out and he had called for another chalice of red wine. Joffrey had drunk that down in an hour and he'd felt so wonderful, so loose and free, that he'd called for another. While he waited for the servant boy to return, he'd shot bolts into the head of the doe he'd had mounted on his wall. The arrows flew madly into the air as Joffrey laughed. He didn't even mind when most of them ended up in the tapestries and the cushions of the chaise. When the second chalice arrived, brimming with the sweet red liquid, Joffrey felt cured of his anxiety. No longer were his insides rippling with fear. He was giddy and relieved. After he'd run out of arrows and found his head feeling too heavy to collect them all back, his first thought was that he'd very much like to call on Sansa. He wanted to talk to her about the battle and how he might die. He wanted to let her know he loved her very much.

After that, things got very, very hazy. He knew he'd gone to visit Sansa, yet it was all black.

As Joffrey stumbled out of Sansa's room, using the wall as a guide, he discovered he did not really recall _what _he'd said to her or what he'd done. And the best part was, he did not care! Joffrey staggered forward and gripped a hanging painting. It fell from the wall and clattered to the floor. Joffrey grinned, greatly amused. Joffrey's tunic was stained with red wine and his face was flushed. His hand was slightly damp and he wondered why until it dawned on him he may have stuck it between Sansa's legs. _I touched her and I did not even worry! I touched her and I do not even recall! _

This realization excited him. Being _this _intoxicated was such a pleasurable feeling, Joffrey could see why others wanted to be drunk. While seeing drunk idiots like Ser Dontos had once disgusted him, Joffrey hadn't exactly given drunkenness a chance himself. It made everything so much easier. Joffrey's mind could rest. Everything was so funny now.

"We are going to fail," Joffrey muttered to himself and burst anew into giggles. _Stannis will reach the shore of Westeros by next nightfall, that's what Mother said. He has fleets of ships and he was not going to be merciful, that's how Uncle Imp put it. What does the Imp care? He is much too short, no one will even see him! _Joffrey bowled over with laughter at this thought: arrows and cleavers and hatchets sailing over his little uncle's head. _And Mother says I mustn't bring my bow and arrows which is all well as I have spent them shooting the ceiling. _He cackled. _She's had me a weapon made, she says it is a surprise. I hope it is a sword because my Dog says only cunts name their swords and so I will name it after him for he is the biggest cunt I know! Trying to steal away my good, good lady Sansa. What a stupid Dog! And Sansa will never know I am completely unprepared. _

His eyes flashed. _No, I'll kill them all and I'll show her all their dead bodies and she will reward me a thousand kisses and three sons! And if I die, first I will order them to set King's Landing to flame so that Sansa burns alive. That way, no other man can savage her._

Joffrey stared blearily down the hall, seeing double for a moment. What could he do now? The castle was full of prospects! Joffrey had felt tired and dizzy while sitting on Sansa's bed but now he felt rejuvenated and he wondered where he could go next. _Does Tommen know Stannis is arriving? Tommen will be so frightened, he'll wet himself. As usual. I should go tell him! If I die tomorrow night I shall regret it. After all, I've been good for Tommen. If it weren't for me, he'd know nothing in this world. He's such a silly baby, weak as the kittens he's so obsessed with._

He staggered and stumbled, singing a bit of "The Dornishman's Wife" in his high, clear singing voice. With no real idea how he made it to his destination, Joffrey walked straight past the two guards in the hallway outside Tommen's chambers.

"Your grace!" one exclaimed. "The hour is late! Do you need an escort to your chambers?"

Joffrey turned and grinned at them, eyes narrowed. "My needs are none of your..." Joffrey trailed off and gagged slightly. "Concern," he finished.

"Your grace, perhaps we should call for the Hound!" said the second guard.

"My Hound! Ha!" Joffrey said with a sneer. "He'll do nothing but slobber all over Sa-Stan-Sanis. _Stannis. __Sansa_. Slobber. On. Stannis. Imagine!" Joffrey hooted at his mistake. The guards watched in interest.

"Fetch his lady mother, the queen regent," said the second. "The king is very drunk-"

"Drunk? Me, no, no, no," Joffrey said, and it was suddenly as if rocks were in his mouth. "Fetch only a servant. More wine!" he demanded, and with that, he threw open his brother's chamber door. "TOMMEN!" he shouted gaily, heading toward the oak wood bed in the center of the room. Candles were lit along the window sills, and Joffrey could make out his little brother's form in the blankets. "TOMMEN!"

"Your grace!" one of the guards said tentatively from the doorway.

"Leave me be, you cockhead, an order, that is," Joffrey said, waving his hand frantically as if shooing large flies away as he sunk to the edge of Tommen's bed and wrenched the blankets off him.

Tommen sat up at once and let out a shrill cry. "Help!" he bleated, looking around wildly. He met Joffrey's eyes and Joffrey cracked up laughing. "Joffy?" At once, Tommen backed up against the headboard. "Why are you here?"

"Has mother... has... do you know we're all going to die tonight? Your head will be on a pike!" burst out Joffrey and laughed harder still.

"Mother says it will be fine," Tommen said, eyes huge. His voice was shaking. "Don't worry. We won't die, Joffy-"

"You are _stupid,_" Joffrey spat. "Get up, get out of my bed. I need to rest."

"But it's _my _bed!" Tommen insisted. "Remember, Father said-"

"Oh, fuck you," Joffrey said in a gravelly voice. "Move. Go." He was about to remind Tommen that their father was dead and with any luck, Tommen could see him when he got slaughtered by Uncle Stannis' men. But the words would not form and instead, Joffrey fell face first onto the end of the bed and let out a long snore, fast asleep.

**. . .**

Joffrey lay in bed in a daze. His head was pounding and he did not have the effort to move. Instead he squeezed his eyes shut and lay limp with the blankets pulled over his face to keep out any hint of light. His throat felt raw and his body as though he'd been thrown from a horse, or at least he figured that was how it would feel. As he willed himself to fall asleep again, he heard whispering. He first made out his Uncle Imp's voice, and then Mother's. Joffrey wished to tell them to shut up, but he absolutely had no energy. Their words were part of his dreams, fading in and out. Even if he had anything to say, he was too sick to speak, and their words danced in his head as he dozed.

Tyrion sounded amused. "This room has a stench that brings me back quite a few years. Not very good times, I am afraid. That was before I'd mastered my talents. All of the liquor and none of the licking."

"Honestly, I brought you here for your assistance. Not your vile mockery of my son!" Mother's voice was sharp and it was clear from her footfalls that she was pacing.

"I do not see what assistance is needed here. The boy has clearly vomited-"

"I don't think he even knew I was here. He was so, so sick," Mother said.

"That is not unusual. He went out black and is now in a trance. That is the first step. When he awakes, you should call for a flagon of water, a cup of strong tea. And whatever food he'll eat plenty of."

"Spiced pigeon pies and under cooked bacon," Mother muttered at once.

"To each is own."

"My poor Joffrey-"

"Poor _Tommen._ Have you yet checked up on _him_?"

A pause. "I do not appreciate your judgmental look. Of course. He is asleep and has his nurse with him." She sighed. "I only just convinced him monsters are not real. We had a stern talking-to about his babyish behavior and he has been doing so much better sleeping through the night with no accidents." Mother sighed. "I am afraid this is going to set him back months-"

"Perhaps, and I am not trying to infuriate you, Cersei... Perhaps you should consider how very frightening it would be to have Joff as an elder brother. Far more terrifying than having you as a sister, and that is really an testament to Joff's scare tactics." Tyrion gave a light chuckle. "You know, Tommen is still completely terrified by that story Joffrey used to tell him. He still brings it up from time to time."

Mother's footsteps stopped. "What story?" she snapped.

"You know the one, I am sure. Among the horrible things Joffrey told Tommen, the red lady was by far the most detailed. Tommen was no more than three, he used to blather about it to me-"

"_What _story?" snapped Mother impatiently. "I know no such story."

"Of course you do, Cersei," Tyrion said. "You must know. Joff invented this sort of ghoul with which to scare the living shit out of his brother. Tommen used to call the phantom the red-haired lady. I'll never forget, because I actually found it to be one of Joffrey's more creative tall tales. Normally, I just had to convince Tommen he wasn't going to be chopped to bits."

"Tommen was always making up stories," Mother said in an angry tone.

"Cersei, it was funny. This woman comes 'round after dark when Mummy and Daddy are asleep, and she's got long, white hands." Tyrion made a _wooing _ghost noise.

Mother snorted. "Please," she said. "Joff never believed in ghosts."

"Oh, that's not all. She's very pretty but malicious_. _Of course, in grotesque detail as only your son could produce, she comes 'round to your bed at night..." He paused dramatically. "To swallow your prick whole!" Tyrion snorted. "You can imagine Tommen's fear, but I myself was always hoping she would pay _me _a visit!"

"Joffrey wouldn't tell a story like that," Mother hissed at once. "Tommen is always trying to get him into trouble!"

"Cersei, calm down," Tyrion said. "Have a bit of a laugh!"

Mother's voice came out in a spitty snarl. _"Well, it isn't funny!"_

There was a pause. "Look, I understand you are on edge. We all are. I was only attempting humor."

"I really do _not _appreciate it. You think I wish to hear your idiotic rambling when you are the very person I wish to see least on this earth? I only called you here for advice-"

Tyrion's voice came back loud and caustic. "Ah, because you know nothing of drinking far more than one's share? You know, I am not the only one who enjoys wine, sister. If I drive you so mad, I'll gladly go back to my chambers and spend more time preparing for the battle your budding drunkard of a son is going to lose for us tonight."

"He is your _king! _And he is not a drunkard! He's not like Robert-"

"_That _much I know," said Tyrion.

Another pause.

"I apologize. That was cruel," Tyrion said. "I've been trying my hardest, but you know as well as I am that I'm not our father."

"Far from our father."

"So you see! This is a cruel joke he is playing on me, and if we shall fail, I will get the blame. Not Joffrey. Not the Kingsguard. Me. I suppose I am a _bit_ strained." Tyrion gave a cutting laugh.

"Joffrey cannot fail. He can't handle it," Mother said. "He doesn't do well with losing—"

"And why is that?" Tyrion asked. "Cersei, you've tried to protect him, but he's going to actually face battle tonight. Let's just hope he finds it as exciting as shooting down sparrows."

Mother's voice came out as a breathy gasp. "I'm more and more worried about him by the day," she said. "His moods are so unpredictable, and I am hoping if..." She paused. "_When. _I am hoping _when _he weds Sansa, some of that will be cured."

"What is it you think the marriage will cure? His boredom? His cruelty? His sadistic streak?"

"He used to be happy, Tyrion. I just want him to be happy—"

Tyrion gave a sigh. "He already tries to publically beat and humiliate the girl. He's keeping her locked away like a doll no one else can play with. Do you really think Joff will be happy after the royal wedding?"

"I can only hope," Mother mumbled.

"We'll see, I suppose. Do as I've said. I need to retire. I won't be able to sleep, so at the very least I'll continue organizing this ridiculous battle and hope Stannis will be more unprepared than we are."

"Tyrion-"

"Yes?"

There was a long pause. "Nothing," Mother said. "I bid you goodnight."

**. . .**

"I feel awful. When does this go away?" Joffrey mewled at Uncle Tyrion, who was giving his last instructions before proceeding to the barracks. He was no longer puking, and the raging headache had subsided, but Joffrey still wanted to be in bed away from conversation. It was a shame because, aside from his hidden fears, he was quite looking forward to finally seeing action during the battle. _Now I cannot fully enjoy it, _he pouted to himself as he admired his armor in the mirror. His mother had presented him with his gift, a splendid sword, sharp and glinting. Joffrey had slipped it into the hilt on his armor at once, excited to bloody it.

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Honest to Gods, you pick your first night of heavy intoxication when your shores are being invaded by a man with an army of _twenty thousand!"_

"Twenty thousand?" moaned Joffrey. "Mother didn't say it was _that _many!"

"I feared she'd offer you the abridged version," Tyrion lamented, and summoned the servant girl in the corner of Joffrey's room. "A chalice of wine, as fast as you can!" The girl fled from the room.

"You _have _to be joking," Joffrey snapped. His stomach lurched at the thought. "No more wine!"

Tyrion's tone became weary and stern. "You listen to me, and you listen to me now. Like so many others, you have never considered my opinion valid, and perhaps we do not see eye-to-eye. I assure you, the feeling is mutual. But I need for you to understand something. In the ways of alcohol, I am wise. Drink a cup of wine, not enough to feel any effects. I want you to trust that this will help cure you. And then, I need you to stop complaining, and listen! It just might save your life!"

Joffrey considered Tyrion's words, finding a splash of truth in them. He still detested being told what to do and so he looked upon Tyrion sourly. "I will drink the wine," he said with anger in his voice.

"Good," said Tyrion lightly, his eyes travelling up the wall. "Is that an arrow?" he asked, pointing at the ceiling. Before Joffrey had a chance to answer, the servant returned with the chalice and served both Uncle Imp and Joffrey. Tyrion drained his cup easily, but Joffrey glared into his, his nostrils prickling with the memory of being overly drunk.

Finally, he drank it down and then moaned. He threw up into the goblet, and cringed when vomit ran down the sides. "Ugh," he said, and put it on the dresser. "Clean that up," he snapped at the girl. He wheeled on Tyrion. "You didn't tell me I'd be sick again!"

Tyrion gave a tight smile. "Well, do you feel better?"

Joffrey considered the question, and hated to admit he _did _in fact feel much improved. Instead of answering his uncle, he stomped off to clean himself and freshen up. He wanted Sansa to see him off, and he wanted her to see a war hero. Not a nauseous, foul-smelling fool. Joffrey smiled darkly. _And I want my Dog with me when I say my words to Sansa. That will make it even better. _

**. . . **

"You asked for me, your grace," the Hound said in a quiet voice, bowing his head slightly. Meryn, Boros, Gelvin and Ryas stood behind them. Joffrey had not asked for the Hound's assistance in days, and he got a twinge of irritation as he looked upon his Dog's ugly face. Of course, the Hound was a better fighter than any Joffrey knew, and he wouldn't let their little fray over Sansa interfere with the fact that he needed his protection during the battle. All ready, there were screams and shouts from outside the Red Keep, and when Joffrey had looked out to the shore, he'd seen Stannis' fleet lining up along the water. It was real.

"Yes, Dog," Joffrey said saccharinely. "I need you today. I need you to fight your best and stay by my side, and after the battle is won, you will be back in my service. That is, if you do well."

"Thank you, your grace," muttered the Hound. He did not meet Joffrey's eyes, and his greasy hair hung limp in front of his burns. "I will escort you to the barracks—"

"No," Joffrey argued, smile widening. "I need you to follow me to the throne room. Lady Sansa is waiting there to bestow well wishes upon me. I want you to be there to watch." He traipsed off in front of Clegane, who followed in silence. The other men walked some paces behind. "What do you think I should name my sword?" he called back. "Shall I name it for Sansa, do you think?"

"That would be very well, your grace," answered the Hound.

"Perhaps the Bloody Maiden," Joffrey said, with a laugh. "The Northern Wolf Bitch." He threw back a glance at Clegane. "What do you think?"

"Name it what you wish," was the reply. It was spoken in a quiet and indifferent tone, but Joffrey knew he was bothering Clegane and it pleased him greatly.

"I know!" Joffrey exclaimed, and he stopped in his tracks upon the steps above the great hall. Below, he could see Lady Sansa and her handmaiden standing with Uncle Imp. He was a bit annoyed her old handmaiden was with her, but he figured it would be fine for the evening. Joffrey beamed at the Hound. "I'll name it Hearteater. Do you know why?"

The Dog gave a great shrug of his shoulders, eyes averted. "I know not, my king."

"Because I'm going to cut out Stannis' heart. Just the way I did yours when I proved to you that Lady Sansa is mine." Joffrey's eyes were shining bright and he gazed upon the Dog for a reaction.

"Of course," the man replied.

"Look up at me, Dog," commanded Joffrey, slightly annoyed. Clegane complied. "Don't you think that's a good name? I mean, as far as names for swords go? Hearteater! Watch, watch how excited my lady is for my victory!" He gave a cruel giggle before striding down the stairs. "Sansa! Sansa!" he shouted.

She looked up, looking beautiful with her hair straight and flowing over her shoulders. She gazed upon him with an apprehensive sort of look that gave him pause. Joffrey very much wanted to kiss her, to thread his fingers through her hair, but he figured he might have said too much that had gone forgotten the night before. _Best not be soppy. What a dreadful thing that would be. She needs a man, not a boy. _Instead, he presented her with Hearteater and commanded her to kiss it. Joffrey's lips curled upward as Sansa bent her head, cleavage winking over her bodice. She brought her lips to the cold metal, and Joffrey felt his privates stirring within his armor. He grinned as she raised her head and shifted his weight.

"When I return, I'll present you with Hearteater again and watch as you lick my uncle's blood off of it," Joffrey said with a sneer. The image was a tantalizing one.

But Sansa looked taken aback. "Will you kill him yourself, then? I should think you'd have one of your men do so, your grace—"

"Well, of course I'll kill him myself!" Joffrey challenged, annoyed by her doubts. _What's wrong with her? _"I'll slice his head open and spew his brains all across the dirt—"

"I would think you'd stay in the barracks," Sansa said. "But I should have known you'd be brave enough to fight on the shore with the others—"

"Of _course _I'm brave," Joffrey retorted, glaring at her. His stomach dropped, and this time not out of sickness. "I'll show you." What did Sansa know of battle? And how did she know where he'd been positioned? "I will not let them contain me! I'll run 'cross the shore and stab everyone in the gullet who gets in my way! Then I'll wind up all their innards and bring them back to you and have your wedding dress made of blood and guts! Would you like that?" He was panting.

"Yes, Joffrey," Sansa said, bowing her head to him. "I'll be praying for you to stay safe." She sounded dutiful, but there was no light in her eyes, no excitement.

Joffrey's gaze hardened. "I do not _need _your silly prayers," he snarled. He glanced behind him, and luckily, his men seemed not to be listening. The Hound was staring at the floor, his arms folded in front of him.

"I'm sorry, your grace. I only meant to lighten your spirits." Sansa's voice was dull, and she looked to her handmaiden before setting her gaze back down.

He leaned into Sansa's ear. "Why do you look at her instead of me?" he snapped in a whisper. "_I'm _your king, and when this battle is won, we will be married."

"When the battle is won," Sansa replied quietly.

"That's what I said," Joffrey spat.

"Your grace?" Meryn called out. "We must depart—"

"I'm the king!" Joffrey shouted. "I'll decide when we are needed!" He turned back to Sansa and shoved Hearteater in its sheath. "You'll be ready for me when I return from battle," he said into her ear, and placed his hand on her neck. As he did so, he took a bit of her skin between his fingers and squeezed as hard as he could.

Sansa whimpered. "Yes, of course, your grace," she said and he released her, still glowering. With that, he marched off, his men in tow. Joffrey was slightly shocked. He'd been expecting Sansa to fall to her knees before him to wish him good luck. He'd hoped she'd cling to him and sob, and show she was worried about his safety. He'd imagined smiling smugly and convincing her of his bravery. But Sansa had seemed calmer than he was. As Joffrey headed to position himself for battle, he subconsciously let his hand fall on Hearteater's hilt as panic began to set in again.

* * *

**Next chapter:** Sansa's conversation with Shae before seeing Joffrey off, her strange conversation with a drunk queen regent, and the aftermath of the battle during which she gets two visitors.

**Please review. **


	23. The Devil You Know

A/N: As usual, thanks to Tobiume for assisting me. And thanks for the idea regarding the Hound's "real job".

* * *

_I, Bird, Take Thee, Cat_

_.._

_A bird flew high but her wing broke_  
_Dark was the sky and a dog spoke_  
_'Bird, I have room on my back. _  
_I can run you back to the bird folk!'_

_The bird was unsure and her body hurt__  
_Her wings would not stir as she lay in the dirt_  
_Bird considered Dog's words and was about to chirp_  
_Til she looked to the doorway where the cat lurked.__

_Cat had a golden coat and pretty eyes like green trees  
that evoked the forest where the bird knew she should be  
He said, 'Come Bird, for I've a much better thought—  
Marry me. I will nurse you and then set you free.'_

_Bird's heart sang for Cat was a handsome, fine beast  
so she took no notice of his claws hidden deep in his paw sheaths  
nor did she hear the Dog's mournful, long howl  
as Cat picked out feathers and bones from his teeth_.

-Harmonic Friction

* * *

Chapter 23- _The Devil You Know_

* * *

..

SANSA

..

After the drunken king departed into the darkness, Sansa had lain awake for what seemed like hours using her hands on herself as she never had before. Joffrey's fumbling fingers had not been precise, but they'd rubbed Sansa in a place she'd not thought to touch prior. Despite her embarrassment, Sansa had stroked the crown above her privates secretly while imagining Joffrey's handsome face: the large green eyes, soft golden curls and arched lips. She first focused on their meeting, and on the fantasy of their wedding, but soon she was touching herself and visualizing Joffrey coldly giving her instruction. _"Stark girl. Spread your legs," _she'd imagined him saying, his eyebrows rose in amusement as she did just so, moaning aloud very slightly. _"That's right. Touch yourself and think of your king, think of your king." _ Sansa had grit her teeth as the king's voice played in her head, a hollow chant. _"Good, Sansa. You've been good." _

She'd thought of him watching her with eagerness, and though it made her flush, it excited her, too. _"If I'm good, what do I get, your grace?" _

"_You can have anything you want. Whatever pleases my lady. My queen."_

"_What if I don't wish to be your queen? Can I return to the north? Can I have my mother and my siblings back? Will you give me kindness? I only want your kindness."_

"_Keep touching yourself, and yes, I will reward you with what you wish. Anything you wish."_

"_Thank you, Joffrey. Thank you. Thank you!" _ Sansa's hands worked faster and harder, and a warmth spread through her legs and up her stomach. _"Thank you." _She twitched them over herself, it was like scratching an itch, and she gave a heavy sigh as her face flushed hot in the cool night air. A wave passed over her that she had not felt before and she lay motionless, eyes closed as she tried to collect herself. Whatever had happened had felt amazing and Sansa allowed a smile to claim her mouth.

As she gathered her thoughts, however, the reality made her sad. Joffrey wouldn't grant her permission to leave. Joffrey wanted her here in King's Landing. _But if Stannis really is on his way, Joffrey may very well not be the crowned king any longer. Then, with a little luck, I may be free to go where I wish. I may be able to break free. _ Sansa decided she must not act any differently, she must not be hopeful, until she was completely certain Stannis had seized the Iron Throne for himself. Only then could she reconsider her role in life. Now, she was Joffrey's and she could not let her thoughts stray from him.

**. . . **

Sansa awoke to loud noises and sun streaming in through the windows. She stretched and sat up, letting out an exhausted groan. The sounds were coming from the courtyard outside her window. There were horses neighing, men shouting, and many, many footfalls. _Stannis, _was her first thought and she leapt out of bed, considering her next move. Glancing at herself in the mirror, Sansa paled. Her white nightgown was streaked with blood, and the crimson mess ran down her legs in stripes. Sansa cursed her predicament and set to work stripping from her soiled clothes. When a new handmaiden entered with breakfast, Sansa was bundled in her darkest blanket.

"I need a bath, please," she said, holding her shaking legs together. As the woman helped draw Sansa a bath, she let her thoughts wander. _Of all the things to happen! But I can't let it get to me. I have to be prepared for what the day brings. _The handmaiden dumped hot water over Sansa's head and helped wash her hair.

"You'll be marriagin' the king soon," the handmaiden said, crudely pointing out the ribbons of blood that dribbled through the water like paint. Sansa wished she wouldn't be so bold, and said nothing in return, scrubbing herself down. "You'll bear the prince. Or princess."

Sansa nodded dully. "Yes, I will." _Maybe. Maybe Joffrey will be dead by nightfall. Do I want that? If he lives, maybe our children will not. _

"And you look forward to that task, I can imagine," went on the young woman, clucking her tongue. "It's excitin'. _Me, _of all the people, attending to the future queen of Westeros. Do you spend time with the king often? Is his company pleasurable? I'll have to tell me mam I've met _the future queen of Westeros. _The lucky bride of King Joffrey._" _The woman laughed.

Sansa cringed at the coarse speech, the rough accent, and the poorly masked rudeness. "The king is very good to me," she said.

"Is he now? King Joffrey's lucky future bride," said the woman in a condescending tone, fetching Sansa a long towel as she stepped out of the bath. She wrapped the towel around Sansa, who shivered. "Imagine."

"Not if we all get our throats slit tonight."

Sansa and the handmaiden turned to the doorway, where Shae stood with a glint in her eye and a dagger in her hand. "Shae!" Sansa burst out. "What are you-"

But Shae strode forward toward the handmaiden. "Out," she said. "This is _my _job. Tell no one I was here and you'll live." Luckily, that was all it took for the woman to take off like a scared mouse.

"Shae!" Sansa exclaimed, lowering her voice. "I thought I'd never see you again." There was an awkward pause.

"And how did you feel about that, Lady Sansa?" Shae questioned, a tiny bit of jest in her tone. "Are you angry with me?" She slipped the dagger inside her skirts.

Sansa wanted to ask about the weapon, but there was too much to be said. "Shae, I never meant to hurt you, and I especially didn't want to slap you. That… wasn't me. I cannot explain it, but my mind—I'm unsure of what to do, and what I want. Especially now."

"So you know?" Shae asked quietly. "Come, let me dress you. There is much to be said."

Sansa found herself exceedingly glad for Shae's company, that familiarity. Shae's hands were not foreign as she helped Sansa into a suitable outfit and combed her hair back. As Sansa tried to eat a bit of breakfast, she looked upon Shae with question in her big eyes. "Do you know something, Shae? Lord Tyrion, has he—"

"Shh," Shae warned, finger to her lips. She stood against the bedpost as Sansa fiddled with her bread. "We must be very careful, my lady. You are correct. My. My friend has given me details about this invasion. Even after our fight, I felt it ill luck to keep you dumb to the events. You've been pulled around by everyone here. That won't be me. You must listen to me and listen hard. My friend has told me there is little chance your king will win. Joffrey has never wielded a sword beyond killing small animals for fun. He thinks war will be like a game he's sure to win."

Sansa's face burned at Shae's words, and though she wanted to stick up for Joffrey, she held her tongue. "He told me last night he might fail," Sansa whispered, lowering the cold toasted bread to the platter. "He said just as much as you have."

"Well, that's surprising," Shae mused.

"He was very drunk," Sansa said, slightly embarrassed. "He started by saying that, then told me he'd kill Stannis and be a hero."

Shae's dark eyes flickered as she took a seat next to Sansa and patted her arm. "It won't happen that way," she said in a low tone. "I saw in your eyes that he almost had you. The time we fought? I know you've faced horrors, Lady Sansa. But I want you to believe in your own survival—"

"I _have _been," Sansa said steadily. "I've made it this far. What if Joffrey lives? I want to love him, I want to be his good wife, but what if… What if Stannis _does _take the Iron Throne? I'm not an enemy to Stannis—"

"Exactly," Shae said, with a small smile. "My lady, you are sharp. You've figured out what I've come to tell you. If Stannis wins, and he likely will, Joffrey _will _be dead. You won't have to pretend. You won't have to play his sick games any longer, Lady Sansa. You'll only be yourself. You'll be able to flee, to face a new destiny." A few tears shone in her eyes.

With a bit of guilt Sansa realized what this must mean for her handmaiden. "And Lord—" she stopped herself. "Your friend. Will he… will he die, too? With the king? With the rest of them?"

Shae sighed and sat straighter. "I have a lot of hope for my little lion. He's surprising, you know. He might make it out alive."

"I hope so," Sansa said gently. "He is very kind." _And my Joff. What of my Joff? Sometimes he is surprising, too, but he's everything except kind. Only in my dreams is he kind. I must remember that. Shae is right. Shae _has _been right. _

"Joffrey won't ruin you. I told you this in the beginning, before everything. Joffrey may have your maidenhead but you'll never be ruined. You can get away from all this. Keep your head up and stay out of the madness. I know what he's like, from my…lord. I know the king threatens you, rapes you… But he's scared. A scared, pathetic little boy. His head will sit on a pike by tomorrow. Payback will come."

Sansa's heart felt heavy as she considered Shae's words. The first two times with Joff, she hadn't felt ready. She'd disliked his groping hands and it had hurt when he'd put his shaft inside her. He'd tortured her, ordered her beaten, put her through Hell. All of this was true.

On the other hand, he'd also said sweet words to her. He'd promised her a lavish wedding and he'd kissed her lips with a tenderness Sansa was certain could not be matched by any man. She'd grown to both fear him and find him as alluring as ever, handsome and appealing in ways she hated to admit. He'd saved her from getting abused by the Hound, and the last times they'd been alone she'd relished his touch. His long fingers, hot breath, pulsing hardness between her legs. Sansa was used to Joffrey by now, and although she was excited to return home, she was still torn.

"My lady? Are you alright?" Shae asked softly. "What are you thinking?"

"Only that I'm glad you came to me," Sansa whispered, holding back tears. "You've shown me kindness I don't even really deserve."

"Oh, Sansa, don't be silly."

Still though, there was that voice in the back of Sansa's mind, that clear, high drawl.

Think of your king. Think of your king. Think of your king.

_**. . . **_

"_His grace, King Joffrey Baratheon, wishes for his future queen to wish him well in the throne room at this time. His grace departs for battle shortly. And the order follows that Lady Sansa will join the ladies of court and handmaidens of the queen regent in the Red Keep, where she will be kept safe from harm."_

The words of the servant boy rang in Sansa's ears as she and Shae hurried down the steps to make it to the hall. Shae had reminded Sansa of her family and they'd spent the afternoon talking about Sansa's brother Robb. Sansa outlined what a great fighter he was, and how very brave. Shae had then told Sansa a story about her own siblings, and the two had been laughing, albeit nervously, when Joffrey's message had arrived. Now, everything was happening too fast. Sansa was trying not to think of Joffrey in positive ways. He was a _monster. _He was _cruel. _Being with Shae had helped her see this again.

Though of course, actually seeing Joffrey bounding down the steps wearing an elated leer had rocked Sansa to her core. She was worried he'd smell like pungent wine again, and her fears were not confirmed. Instead, the usual pleasing scent of Joffrey wafted to her nose, warming her core. But Sansa stayed brave. With Shae standing nearby and her firm knowledge that Stannis would claim the throne, Sansa stood her ground, even as the Hound stood some feet behind Joffrey, shuffling his feet.

She ignored him and focused on the king, keeping composure. After all, this could be the last time Sansa would see Joffrey alive. She still did not really think she wanted to see his bleeding head. She only wanted what would come after Joffrey's death: her sweet freedom. Her sanity.

He also might live, and so she had to be good. She had to act the part of his future queen. She was further torn between her identities as Joffrey, Shae, and the Hound all stood around her, unaware of her own deep internal battle.

Joffrey was brandishing a shiny new sword and flashing her with a large grin. He was nearly hopping with what looked like excitement. Gone was the boy with worries of losing and back was the arrogant, grinning serpent Sansa had grown to fear. "I think you should send me off with a kiss," he said cockily, and to Sansa's horror, he indicated the weapon. _Don't cut me, Joffrey. Please don't, _she prayed as she bent her head to comply. As she looked up, she saw Joffrey staring down at her, his smile growing more gigantic by the second. "When I return, I'll present you with Hearteater again and watch as you lick my uncle's blood off of it."

Sansa drew back and pursed her lips, disgusted by the request. _Why does he look so happy? Why can't he say nice things? Even when sour wine clung to his breath and he fell on top of me, he spoke sweetly. Well. Mostly sweetly. _ "Will you kill him yourself, then? I should think you'd have one of your men do so, your grace—"

Joffrey's mouth opened, and he looked confused by her comment. "Well, of course I'll kill him myself! I'll slice his head open and spew his brains all across the dirt—"

"I would think you'd stay in the barracks," Sansa said, unable to hold back. "But I should have known you'd be brave enough to fight on the shore with the others—"

"Of _course _I'm brave. I'll show you. I will not let them contain me! I'll run 'cross the shore and stab everyone in the gullet who gets in my way! Then I'll wind up all their innards and bring them back to you and have your wedding dress made of blood and guts! Would you like that?" There was a wild look in Sansa's betrothed's eyes.

"Yes, Joffrey. I'll be praying for you to stay safe." Sansa spoke in a sincere tone, yet her heart was pounding. _Where are the things you promised? The wedding? The fine dress? You'd still wish me to suffer? Have I really been such a fool to trust you?_

"I do not _need _your silly prayers," Joffrey said, and put his free hand on his hip.

"I'm sorry, your grace. I only meant to lighten your spirits." Sansa looked to Shae before averting her gaze. _Gods, let this be over soon. Please. _

"Why do you look at her instead of me?" Joffrey asked in a hiss, and all of a sudden he was breathing and snapping in Sansa's ear. She squirmed. "_I'm _your king, and when this battle is won, we will be married." He gripped her arm.

_Don't try to trick me, _Sansa thought, though her breathing quickened with his touch and his breath. "When the battle is won," she echoed.

"That's what I said." Ser Meryn announced that it was time to depart and Joffrey turned around angrily. "I'm the king!" he yowled. "I'll decide when we are needed!" Joffrey turned back to Sansa while putting his sword away, and he gripped her by the neck, squeezing her skin. _"You'll be ready for me when I come back," _he whispered, his voice as urgent as his lengthy fingers between her legs.

"Yes, of course, your grace," Sansa whispered back, and as Joffrey removed his hand, he stroked under her ear. _Does he not even care we're surrounded by people? Maybe he knows he will die. _She stiffened, willing the warmth between her thighs to go away. The king stomped off, and as the Hound began to follow, Sansa cast her head down, beet red.

"Stay safe, bird," Clegane muttered hoarsely before walking past Sansa. Surprised, she watched him leave. Clegane was another person Sansa could not figure out. He had seemed helpful, though he'd shown himself to be aroused by her, affectionate toward her. His change in behavior made Sansa nervous. Not as much as she used to be around him, because she had worse things to worry about.

**. . . **

_Get me to Winterfell. Let Stannis take the throne. Spare the innocent. Get me to Winterfell. Let Stannis set me free. Please. _Silent prayers fell from Sansa's lips as she hunched over, hands clutched, seated upon a cushioned chaise in the Red Keep. All around her, women cried or muttered quietly or dozed. Prince Tommen slept on a chaise across from Sansa with his thumb in his mouth.

Queen Cersei was the only woman who did not seem perturbed by the battle. The screams and bangs from outside did not jolt or disturb her as she filled her chalice with more and more wine and slipped further into a pit of drunkenness than Sansa had ever seen a high-born lady descend. Mother always said that drinking was a man's pastime and she'd warned Sansa against public drinking. Mother said drinking to excess was for troubled people, for poor wretches. On the contrary, the beautiful queen seemed at peace and she glowed more than ever, a dangerous smile on her lips that reminded Sansa very much of Joffrey.

"Wine, little dove?" called the queen regent, grasping her flowing silk skirts in a ringed hand and dropping delicately between Sansa and Shae.

Sansa drew a breath, masking her slight irritation at her prayers being interrupted. She fixed a cordial expression on her face as she turned to face Cersei. "No, your grace. No thank you."

"What were you whispering about?" Cersei asked, petting Sansa's hair and looking down fondly at her as though trying to figure her out.

"I was praying."

"Praying for whom?" Cersei asked, and she raised her flaxen eyebrows with an amused smile.

"For our men," Sansa offered easily. "For King Joffrey, and his kingsguard, and the lord Hand and the knights—"

"Really?" Cersei cut in, and her hand caught a bit of Sansa's hair in a tug. Sansa clenched her teeth. "All of them? You really are the sweetest little thing, aren't you? When my son weds you, you'll be sweet. And when he gives you sons, you'll be sweet, won't you?"

"Y-yes, my queen," Sansa said with a polite nod.

"And when he berates you, you'll _stay _sweet. And when he beats you, you'll _stay _sweet, won't you dove?" Queen Cersei took another sip of wine and released Sansa's hair.

Sansa's eyes widened and her face flushed, but she said nothing. After all, Joffrey had already entered her, and he'd beaten her, and she'd stayed sweet, hadn't she? Wasn't that all she _could _do? _Not anymore, _Sansa thought, fists clenching. _I won't be his doll. _It surprised her to hear Cersei speak this way. Cersei, who never uttered a word against her beloved son.

"You know," Cersei went on, her hand falling on Sansa's shoulder, "he was not always cruel and he's not cruel in his heart. That's something you will learn. No matter how much you do, no matter what lengths you go to, you cannot always protect your children. Joffrey's a good boy. And as much as he's done, I think he's still very fond of you. Perhaps too fond," she said in a snap.

"Yes, your grace," Sansa nodded and cringed when Cersei grabbed her arm.

"It wasn't his fault, you know," the queen regent said. "He should not have had to see…"

"See what, your grace?" Sansa asked, completely confused.

Cersei released Sansa and took another drink of wine. "There are many things we bury in King's Landing," she said. Before she could utter another word, there was a great explosion from outside. Several women screamed.

Ser Illyn Payne stirred from the corner he'd been standing in as a messenger ran into the keep. "Your grace!" the man shouted. His hands and face were covered in smoky dirt. "The castle is under siege! There's no way we'll win! Stannis is prevailing!"

Women muttered and screamed as Cersei rose to her feet. "Ser Illyn Payne, you have your duties—"

"What do you mean?" Sansa burst out.

"She means him to kill us," Shae whispered. "My…my friend tells me this. Rather than be raped and murdered by Stannis' men—"

"But I'm not going to be hurt by Stannis," Sansa said firmly. "I know it in my heart. If I wait in my chamber, I know I will be safe. Someone will come for me."

As panic rose in the room, Cersei snatched Tommen by the hand and rushed out. Sansa was astounded. _She'd leave all these women and save herself?_ Some of the women followed, and others fell to their knees in prayer. Still, more sobbed and screamed. _I can't abide the wailing of women, _Joff had said, and Sansa found herself agreeing. It was too sad and too sick a sound.

"You must go!" Shae urged as the weathered executioner strode toward a woman lying on the floor. At Sansa's worried expression, Shae gestured to where she'd stowed her dagger. "I have protection. But you must go!"

With that, Sansa wrapped Shae in a quick hug and fled from the room.

**. . . **

_It's really happening, _Sansa thought wildly as she ran to her chambers. She'd passed several brawls, not to mention maids trying to make off with candlesticks and paintings. There were screams and shouts, and looking out of every window gave Sansa a view of destruction and fire. _ Soon I will be home. _

When she reached her room, something was off. The door was ajar and Sansa clearly remembered when the guards had locked it behind her as she left to meet King Joffrey. Still, and she was not certain why, she did not have an ill feeling about stepping inside. When she did, she let out a gasp.

There, rocking back and forth in her bed with her blankets drawn around his burned face, was the Hound. His great shoulders were shaking and his black hair was slick and mussed up around his jaw line as he drunk deeply from a leather pouch in his giant hands. At her utterance of sound, the Hound's form straightened and black eyes caught hers in the dim candlelight. "Bird," he rasped. "Little bird, little bird, what's to be done here, little bird? I've fallen to pieces."

It was just like speaking to the queen regent in the sense that Sansa knew not what to respond with. She only observed Ser Clegane's shadowed face from her spot near the door, wondering if she should run or stay. After all, he'd tried to assault her once, and had only stopped because Joffrey had commanded it. _Was that right? _she suddenly found herself thinking. _I can't remember what's real and what isn't. That's what has happened to me since suffering through my trials here in King's Landing. _

"Are you so fucking afraid of me, girl?" the Hound asked, and though his words were gritty, they were delivered with a hearty sob. In awe, Sansa realized there were tears rolling down his face. _I'm the greatest killer there is, _he'd said once, and here he was, crying in her bed like he was a small boy instead of a great, big man. "I suppose I don't make things easy for myself, but after everything I'd hoped you'd see how I…" He trailed off, seeming to think better of his words, and instead drank deeply from the pouch.

"Yes, I'm afraid of you," Sansa finally said, and her heart beat faster. "Can you not think of me, of how I might feel? You were there! I was embarrassed, I was so scared, and you—you _desired me. _The entire time! When I thought you were helping me!"

"I never expected any chance with you!" came the loud, breathy reply, and the Hound's shoulders shuddered. "Don't you see? Of course I desire you, you stupid bird! You are a pretty, kind thing, and you have no bad bone in your body! Of course… But my helping you, that wasn't for any reason but to _help you, _don't you see? Has the fucking king got you so damn blinded you've lost all reason? I never hoped to hold you, Lady Stark. For fuck's sake, even _I _know I'd break you. Even I know." He burst anew into tears and drunk again from the pouch.

Sansa's concern got the best of her and she walked closer to the bed. The tears twinkled down Clegane's raw face, and his mouth drooped down sadly, the small exposed part of his skull looking strange juxtaposed with the wave of emotion washing over him. "Please don't cry," she said quietly, "I'm afraid of you, though I don't think you're bad—"

"Well, that's something, isn't it? You'll lie with a hogshit crazy little fuckwit and let him scramble your brains and all you can say about me is I'm not bad!?" He laughed through his tears. "As bad off as I am, I can see you're clearly fucked, you've let these people corrupt you, my little bird—"

"What else can I be but what I am?" Sansa challenged darkly, narrowing her eyes. She felt like a mother scolding a naughty child. "Shall I speak up and die? What should you have me do, run? Slap the king? Since I've shown him kindness, he's been different. He hasn't beaten me in weeks!" _And when he beats you, you'll stay sweet, won't you, little dove?_

"You're only a child," the Hound rasped, leaning back on the creaking headboard with a sigh. "I'm not blaming you, bird, not you. I must away from here soon before I'm killed. The king's pet, that's what I've been, I'm no better than you. Worse actually, perhaps. I'll be up there with him on the castle wall dead if I don't away. And I my head deserves better than festering under the king's rotten corpse."

"Has he died, then?" Sansa asked, her voice shaking a bit. "Is Joff dead for good?"

"Not last I saw," the Hound said, closing his eyes and clearing his throat as if to hide his crying. "Oh, but he will be. He doesn't stand a fucking chance. You should have seen your king, my bird. Scared out of his pristine fucking armor. Did you love that little shit or what?" His coal eyes flashed. "_Did _you?"

Sansa hesitated. "I loved him because it was my duty. If it's not my duty, I do not need to love him." _But he'll always be my first love. He had me first. He made sure of it. _

"Maybe you _do _belong in King's Landing."

"I don't know what you mean," Sansa said.

"Me either," the Hound laughed, "but none of it matters now. And since none of it matters, you should sing me a song, bird. Your king will be dead and so you should sing. Sing a pretty one for me. Would you?" He wiped his eyes on his sleeve before draining his wine and sighing again.

"A—a song?" Sansa asked confusedly in a quiet voice.

"A song, a song, bird! Is that not how you charmed everyone? How you fooled them? Flitting around and lying through your chirps and squawks?"

Sansa studied Clegane's face and stepped closer to the bed. The tears that flowed there still were streaking his cheeks with blood and dirt and his hair was ratted. He smelled of smoke and fire. "What happened down there?" asked Sansa, ignoring the question.

"I'll tell you what happened, but you won't believe me. Fucking fire, that's what. The little lord used wildfire and no one thought to tell me—" he gasped, and Sansa watched him, trying to be polite. She was befuddled all the same. The Hound went on. "No one knew how to fight against that Baratheon fuck. Your precious king most of all. Not a big surprise to me. You didn't see it with your own eyes so you'll likely still recite your hero ballads when you remember your _golden haired King Joffrey,_" he spat, his gnarled hand pounding the nightstand.

For once, Sansa wasn't afraid. "You don't know how I think," she asserted. "You don't know how I'll remember him!" _ A pretty monster on a fast horse. My first love. Arya and the butcher's boy. Micah? Was that his name? I can't even remember. But I'll always remember Joffrey's fingers in me, his breath on my neck, his boy shaft deep inside me. _ Sansa flushed.

"I know you let him take you! I heard! Though you might remember it differently, so help me, I heard. Do you know I could have had my head for that? Easily, bird, I could have sold you to the queen and you would have been as dead as your beloved father! But I kept my fucking gob shut like the good dog I am." He sniffed, a startlingly vulgar sound. "Was," he corrected. "You know, I've been following that little shit around for ten years! Ten years of my damned life! At first I thought I was doing good. King Robert was the one who took me on, you know. At first, he claimed he needed someone to watch his wife but I soon knew what my real task was. _Check up on little Prince Joffrey, _he'd say. _He gets up to no good, _he'd say. Up to no good! Ha!" The Hound took another long drink of wine. "Little did I know what the hell I was getting into!"

Sansa realized the Hound was drunker than she'd seen him. An out of place smile curved on his large lips, curling over his crooked teeth. Unable to move, she listened.

"_Joff, this is your dog, _they told him. _He does what you say. _I'll never forget the first time I laid eyes on the prince. I was eighteen years of age and he was only six. I hated children, had no use for them, but this one looked like a damned angel. The prettiest fucking boy I'd ever seen. Everyone was always talking about how precious this fucking prince was and when I saw him for myself, I had to agree. I was told to keep an eye on him and Princess Myrcella. At the time, no one told me why. No one wanted to say it aloud."

"Say what aloud?" Sansa asked.

The Hound shook his head, laughing darkly. "So I stood and I watched the wee little blond bastards playing with their toys, thinking, _really, I can kill any man, and they have me watching children?_ And then the prince grabs Myrcella's dolls. He starts pushing them together like this," the Dog said and he rubbed his hands in a way that made Sansa's breath catch in her throat. "I didn't say a word because I wasn't allowed to speak but it was strange all the same. I only stepped in when he started shoving down Myrcella's throat… When I told King Robert, he laughed. Like it was the funniest thing in the world. He was piss drunk. And he says to me, _now that's the last time I want to hear what that boy does. That's why you're here. To make sure he acts right. But I do not ever want to hear it._' No one cared. Not when he beat his siblings, spat in his sister's hair and tried to drown his brother...Snuck in their rooms at night to scare them. Not when he stepped on ducklings and gutted cats. The things I saw… No one gave a fucking shit, as long as it was kept quiet!" His voice was growing in volume, and spit was flying out of his mouth.

Sansa watched Clegane, eyes widening, her mind wandering. She had no idea what to say to him and she shuffled uncomfortably when he let out another shuddering sob.

"My job was not to protect any of them. Not Joffrey, not the little ones. My job was to keep it all hushed up. And so you see, little bird, you see this cage they've stuck you in? This fucked up cage? When I set eyes on you I wanted to tell you. _Sweet girl, _I wanted to say, _stay in Winterfell. _But I didn't say a word because I wasn't allowed to speak."

"But—"

"You know why I call you _Bird? _Because I knew if you married Joffrey he would rip you to shreds just as he did the doves and the sparrows!" the Hound shouted. "But now, you're free, bird! You're free! Does it feel like you're free?" With that, he reached out and grabbed Sansa by her arm and pulled her roughly to the bedside. She let out a cry, but all the Hound did was press his face to her shoulder and sob. "Do you even know what free is?" he whimpered. "I don't!"

As the Hound cried, Sansa felt her fear melt away into sorrow. _He's not going to hurt me, _she thought. She found herself putting her hands on the man's strong shoulders, and she was suddenly cradling him. "Be still," she said softly. "You have to leave here, it's like you said. Leave here or they will kill you. As for me, I'm safe. Stannis does not view me as an enemy, of that I am certain."

Clegane drew up and took Sansa by her hands, his movements unsteady. "Come with me," he said. "Fly far away from here. How do you know you'll be safe? I will protect you. I will take you to Winterfell."

"And if they see me? I'll be killed, then," Sansa argued, shaking her head. "I can't risk it. Not after anything. I've prayed that Stannis will be merciful. My prayers are all I can trust."

"You—don't—trust me?" sputtered Clegane.

"I don't trust anyone," Sansa said honestly. "I am sure your heart is in a good place! I know that now. But I don't trust you."

"Do you know he had the arrow pointed at your head?" Clegane said, and he let her go as he staggered to his feet. He hulked over her but Sansa was still not scared. "The king would have had you killed like a dog on the floor of his room, naked and shaking, but I stopped him!"

Sansa drew in a breath, trying to make sense of his words. "No," she said, "Joffrey commanded you to move away from me. Joffrey saved me!"

"You're fucked," the Hound croaked, "you're fucked but it's not your fault. Please come with me, for fuck's sake! You'll die here or go mad!" He clutched her waist and his black eyes bored into hers as he drew a long breath of air.

"No," Sansa said, and she put her hands on his thick wrists. "I will recover when Stannis sends me back North. I will be myself again—"

"That crazy little coward fucked you all up," the Hound said sadly, "and I hope with all my heart you're right. Now I must go, Bird. I hope your prayers can save you."

"Thank you, Ser," Sansa said, and still clutching the Hound's wrists, she found herself leaning up to him. Before she knew it, he leant down to meet her and they pressed lips together. It was quick and it was soft, nearly pleasant.

His coarse hand stroked her hair tenderly; he was like a trained bear that'd been taught to perform for humans. He gave her a murky smile. His voice shook and cracked as he gave his wry reply: "I'm still not a Ser." Then, he was gone.

Sansa fell to the bed where she sat at the edge, her hand rising to touch her own lips. She _would _fly. She'd return home to the north, and with any luck Robb could stop fighting. Perhaps he'd be king, _the _true king, but Sansa did not want hopes that high. She wanted a simple life, everything she'd scoffed at before. Even the worst of times were better the hell she'd endured in King's Landing.

She heard a booming sound from outside and did not even start. She assumed the castle was being breeched. Stannis had definitely won. Although part of Sansa was relieved, she could not allow herself to be happy yet. Too much had occurred for that. She sighed, trying to contain the butterflies in the pit of her stomach as she sunk to her knees. She poised her hands in prayer and whispered words for the slaughtered. It was ill luck not to, even if Arya and others might call her foolish for it. She knew her father would understand. _Goodbye, Queen Cersei. You tried to be a mother. You were not my mother but I was fortunate to have you sometimes. And Tommen, I hope your death was merciful, you sweet boy. _

She took a deep breath. _King Joffrey… My maidenhead is yours, and you nearly had my head and my heart. I don't wish you mercy but I also do not wish you pain. If things had been perfect, we may have been happy. Alas, it was not my fate. I deserve a life that makes me happy. Shae was right. I deserve-_

The door clicked and swung open, and Sansa's mouth opened. Her heart felt like it was about to drop into her stomach. The king was standing in the doorway, very much alive.

"My lady!" King Joffrey hooted, waving Hearteater to and fro in the air. "I won! I won!"

"Oh my… My king!" Sansa burst out, and she laughed. Tears fell from her eyes as her throat seized up. "My sweet Joffrey! Alive!"

"My sweet lady!" Joffrey said, rushing toward her. "You feared for my safety!" Mistaking her sobbing for tears of joy, he shoved his sword in its sheath and took her by the hands. "Sweet lady Sansa, I knew you cared!"

"Of course, Joffrey, of course," Sansa cried, and she tried to form thoughts, tried to grab hold of something tangible, tried to grab something to cure the feeling of absolute brokenness. So she grabbed Joffrey's hands and let him hold her there in the dark. His hands grasped hers, and she realized he was shaking badly. "My king, you're shaking! What has happened?"

"Oh, it's a cause for celebrating, Sansa! My grandfather Tywin rode in on his steed! I'm told he overpowered Stannis' men, he and his allies! And Stannis ran like a scared rabbit! He ran!" Joffrey let out a manic bout of laughter and sunk to his own knees in front of Sansa.

"You… you were told?" Sansa questioned, confused. "Who told you? Where were you?"

Joffrey shrugged as if it weren't important. His teeth were rattling as if he was very cold. "I was inside the castle for a moment. My mother needed me. I could not locate her so I stepped off…" He stopped talking and shrugged again. "It is not important. I was just told, Sansa! We have won! It's over! Now, now, you'll finally be mine!" He was so gay and excited that Sansa laughed again through her tears. It was almost funny. _Almost. _ And then, Joffrey was pulling out Hearteater, that cocky grin from earlier sliding onto his lips. "You promised me something."

_Gods, please, please no blood! _Sansa thought as Joffrey held out his sword again. A quick scan of the blade made Sansa breathe in relief. Hearteater was as clean as before. Completely untouched. "Shall I kiss your sword, my king?" she asked, her voice wavering. _Did he even fight? _ Even in the state she was in, Sansa was not stupid enough to ask him something like that.

Joffrey nodded eagerly. "Yes! Yes, please do me the honor! It's only a shame Stannis did not come near enough. Or else you could have tasted his blood and kissed me with it." He gave a breathless giggle.

Sansa tried to look calm. "Yes, what a shame," she said quietly and before Joffrey could demand she say more, she bowed her head down and kissed Hearteater. The cold metal tasted tangy and wet with rain.

"And now," Joffrey said, slowly drawing back the blade and placing it beside them on the floor, "you can kiss my lips, too." Without hesitation, he took her face in both his hands and kissed Sansa deeply on the lips.

"Oh, Joffrey," she moaned. "Joff." _My life. My king. My fate. _He pulled his hands from her and she felt him working at his clothing. When she opened her eyes, he was undressing himself. Already shirtless, he was opening his breeches. "What are you doing?"

"I told you to be ready for me," he said, and there was no harshness, no sneering in his tone. Only excitement. As Sansa watched him removing articles of clothing, she realized this was the way it was always going to be and that she could only feel love for King Joffrey if she wanted to ever be happy. And so when he caught her hands again and smiled down at her, when he gestured to his swelling hardness and commanded her to kiss him there, too, she gave him a sweet smile and knelt between his legs.

* * *

_**/END PART ONE.  
**_


	24. Part Two: Prologue, Moan for Your King

** PART TWO.**

* * *

_"You say you don't want it, again and again  
(but you don't, don't really mean it)  
You say you don't want it, this circus we're in  
(but you don't, don't really mean it)  
You don't, don't really mean it."_

-Tori Amos, _"Spark"_

* * *

_Prologue: _

_Eleven Years Ago_.

..  
CERSEI  
..

"Joff has not been right," Cersei whispered into her brother Jaime's ear. He had his hand trailing on her waist and he had been running it up the length of her body until she spoke. As if it were suddenly frozen, Jaime's hand halted upon her torso just beneath her breast.

"Cersei," he exhaled into her neck, and she knew what was coming before he even spoke. They were on the same wavelength, she and her Jaime; after all, they'd been lovers since the age of fourteen and they knew each other better than they knew how to sleep, to breathe. She knew Jaime was eager to have her alone. Robert was seldom on hunting trips anymore since he'd been called back to direct his armies against the East, and so this was a rare moment Cersei had with her precious twin.

As much as she did not want to waste their time on talking, she felt the need to speak to someone, anyone besides Robert. Robert had called her mad and over-protective. He had not cared when she'd pointed out the sopping wet bedding, her torn gowns, and the broken toys in the nursery. _'He's willful and spoiled. What do you expect? You cling to the boy as if he might randomly catch fire. Leave him be, Cersei.' _That remark had made her grit her teeth, but last week when Joff had violently rocked the cradle holding his sister and Robert reacted by slapping him hard across the forehead, Cersei had felt like she herself would randomly catch fire. Cersei had grabbed Robert around his middle and screamed at him to stop. Stop he had, but then he'd laughed at her and called her stupid. She'd held Joffrey tight, tears in her eyes that she held back. But Joff had only pushed her face away.

Until now, Joffrey had been a very good, happy boy. A bit loquacious and excitable perhaps, but a very charming boy. _Everyone _thought so: the nursemaids, the high septon, visiting rulers, and the peasants who came to ask for the favors or pardons of the realm. Everyone adored the little prince. Cersei felt as if she were glowing when she held Joffrey in her arms; she felt as if they were bound together as one when she pressed his soft face to her cheek and ruffled his white-gold hair. Yes, until now, Joffrey had been happy to hold onto her skirts as she read by the hearth or worked at her embroidery. He'd played in the grass with the castle dogs, and he'd planted gentle kisses on baby Myrcella's head. In the past month, though, he was acting strangely and although Cersei hated to admit there was anything wrong with her flawless firstborn, she was beginning to worry.

"Please, brother." Cersei put her hand over Jaime's in a tender motion and tightened her fingers in his. "Robert will not listen to me—"

"We should not talk about this, Cersei. It's a risk—"

"And it's less of a risk for you to have your hand near my breasts?" Cersei whispered as Jaime grunted in her ear, sensing the sensuality of her quiet tone.

He kissed the nape of her neck. "I'd rather not speak of—of the boy while we are intimate—"

"Then we will pause," Cersei said, and slowly pulled Jaime's hand from her waist. When he let out a pained sigh, she turned and fixed him with a skeptical expression. "Honestly," she said. "Robert will be gone for days—"

"I want you," Jaime breathed.

"And I want you to listen," she countered. At his look, she softened her tone. "For just a moment, please, listen. And then, I'll do anything you want."

"Now, there is an exchange I like," Jaime grinned, and Cersei felt her skin warm up at his self-assured tone, his easygoing smile. _Joffrey will be just like him, _she thought. _Brave and chivalrous. And, obviously, very arrogant. _ "You may speak."

Cersei swatted him playfully, almost forgetting the seriousness she felt in her heart. "I am the queen. And so _you, _brother, may listen."

He gave a deep, joking bow, all frills and waving hand gestures. "I will gladly listen, my queen," he said, with a wink.

She ignored the frivolity of his actions and sat on the edge of her bed. "He seems angry—"

"Aren't children that age supposed to act so? Don't you remember Tyrion at four? I couldn't shut him up to save my life. And the worst tantrums, the absolute worst. Very crafty, though," Jaime grinned.

"Stop," Cersei hissed. "Joff isn'tat all like our brother! And besides, that isn't what I am speaking of. Tantrums are usual, of course. He used to scream and cry when he did not get his way but this… This is different." She lowered her voice, shame creeping around in her stomach as she spoke. "First it was the bed-wetting—"

"I thought you surmised that begun again because he was jealous of Myrcella? And that is normal," Jaime offered as if he were an expert, looking bored. _Please, Jaime, don't be like my foolish lord husband. Hear me. I know what I am speaking about. _

"Yes," she said impatiently, "it _was _normal, but now it's gotten worse!"

"Ask a septa, ask Joff's nursemaid—"

"Jaime! I'm not speaking about the bed-wetting!" Cersei said shrilly, so shrilly that her brother fell silent and sat by her side. Cersei tried to find her words. "I can feel it. There's something in him—something different, Jaime, I can't really explain it, but he's furious with the world! He screams and bites and smacks me! And if it isn't that, he's clinging to me as hard as he can."

Finally, Jaime assumed the role Cersei needed and he put an arm around her shoulder. "A phase?" He nodded his head as if answering his own question. "Yes, Cersei, my guess is it is only a phase. I know not what I should say. You tell me I should not spend time with them, and I understand why," he said quickly. "I understand it would be terrible if anyone were to know. But then you come to me like this, and expect me to care? How can I do both?"

"You are correct, I am sure, brother," Cersei said, and she forced a smile. "It is likely nothing, after all. Now, my knight, tell me what it is you would like." As Jaime leaned toward her and gently kissed her lips, threading his fingers briefly in her hair before plunging them inside her gown, Cersei leaned back, trying to relax. She had left out her concerns about what Joff's nursemaid had said today, that he would not cease in rubbing himself all through the morning, an empty look in his green eyes. _'No matter what I said, he kept his little hand there in his breeches and… I am sorry, your grace. I found it peculiar.' _

Cersei cast the thought from her head as Jaime brought his mouth down to meet the space between her legs. She willed herself to leave the matter of Joff be, for now. She decided it would all work itself out in time.

* * *

_**Present  
**_

* * *

_Moan for Your King_

_.._

JOFFREY_  
.._

As he watched Sansa gathering her skirts and crawling forward to kneel before him, Joffrey tried to slow his rapid breathing. He was enthused to be with her, but he was also very, very frightened. He seldom prayed to the Gods, and tonight he had prayed for his safety, for justice. He'd realized how very unprepared he was, momentarily wishing he'd paid more attention during small council meetings—or any attention at all. It was too late for all that, though. Battle had not been as amusing as he had always anticipated. The screams of dying men were unappealing, and Joffrey had derived no excitement from the smell of burning flesh, the _clangs _and _booms _of armor and weaponry colliding in the night.

The only part worth watching was when Uncle Tyrion ordered Stannis' fleet to be shot with wildfire, apparently a highly lethal and ancient weapon, one Joffrey had never previously heard of or else he'd have begged for stocks of it to be kept in his chambers to be used whenever he pleased. The substance had shot into the night and had lit up the sky with red and orange, setting ships aflame and crisping Stannis' shouting men until they were silent tarry corpses. It would have been magnificent if only Joffrey wasn't in the thick of things.

From the platform, Joffrey could watch as his armies were sliced and bloodied, as men crumbled to the ground shrieking. It had started off fairly interesting but then arrows had been shot upward. Stray men had tried to fight their way up toward Joffrey, and he didn't like that one bit. He realized there in that crowd of men that he did not want to die, and he didn't feel comfortable. It was hard to admit, but Joffrey had never even once thought to grab out Hearteater. Even Tyrion seemed more confident than he was. Rain drizzled, mixing oil, blood and dirt into the smells of the air. Joffrey's hair was rumpled. His armor was uncomfortable. All Joffrey wanted was to be in his bed with a hot fire in the hearth.

Worst of all, his Hound had left him for the first time. For good. _The time when it really mattered, _Joffrey had thought sourly, and for once he and Tyrion were in agreement. The Dog had run off like a scared pup into the darkness, and Joffrey hoped he'd be caught and tortured for his deceit. After all, he was lucky he'd been kept alive after the business with Sansa. _'Fuck the King,' _Clegane had growled, and Joffrey had felt personally wounded though he'd tried to keep composure. That set the tone for the rest of the time he'd spent on the platform watching his men die like drowning rats, and Stannis' men, too. It really made no difference—Joffrey really could not tell who was who, or what was happening. It made him feel sick.

Cousin Lancel had clamored onto the platform, shaking, his long hair streaked with mud. Usually, Joffrey cared nothing for Lancel, but his familiar face was welcome in comparison to those looks of horror on Joffrey's knights, his dying men. He'd come to tell Joffrey that Mother was looking for him and as much as Joffrey hated looking like a small child in front of his men, he was more than happy for an excuse to leave the battle. Joffrey saw Tyrion and Lancel look at him in dismay, saw Tyrion's lips curl in disgust. But who was Tyrion to Joffrey anyway? If he thought he was so much more prepared, let _him _lead the men for all Joffrey cared! That would show him! Tears welling in his eyes, Joffrey fled the battle and tried to avoid stepping on corpses, his entire body shaking horribly. _I am no warrior, _he thought and the realization struck him hard, like the shit that had been launched at him in Flea Bottom during the riot.

When he raced the corridors calling his mother's name, he saw debris and dead servants. He felt ill having to hear his own terrified echoes of _"Mother? Mother?" _floating through the hallways like a ghost's wail. What would he say to her? The truth, that he'd been too frightened? Or should he say he'd fought his hardest? Who would dispute him? Tyrion, but no one cared what he thought. Before Joffrey could decide, there was an enormous explosion from the front of the castle. Sniveling, he spun on his heels and ran in the opposite direction. _Please, please, any God—any! Hear my prayers! Spare me! Don't let them hurt me! Please, please. I am the king. I am the only king, the true ruler of Westeros! I cannot die! _Though, as he had seen whilst watching men sink down to their knees in the dirt, Joffrey was now certain he _could _die, and that he would.

As Joffrey ducked behind a coat of armor, he heard the screams desist. Shrieks of terror and shouts melted away, and he soon heard cheering, yells of triumph. Only then did Joffrey stride back out into the corridor, and heard his name being called. _"King Joffrey! King Joffrey! Where is the king?" _ Joffrey raced down the hall and toward the throne room. Meryn and Blout caught sight of him and sped to his side. "Your Grace!" Meryn had exclaimed. "Lord Tywin Lannister! He has come, he has brought friends! Together, they took Stannis down! Stannis has retreated! The battle is done!" He was out of breath, his face red and muddy.

"Very good!" Joffrey cried joyously, his entire body still shuddering, recovering from shock. "V-very good! And my mother, is she—"

"Alive, yes, your grace!" Blout nodded. "And your uncle, too—"

"Now, him I don't care so much about," Joffrey said at once, a bit disappointed. After all, now Tyrion could tell everyone what had transpired. _But he wouldn't dare! _"Meryn, Blout! Give my family my well wishes but inform them not to consider disturbing me. I must see my future queen. I must ensure her safety. Tell them I must converse with her, I must assess her to make certain she was left unharmed."

And now, here he was. Sansa was safe, and she'd never looked more beautiful. The best part was, Sansa knew not of what had transpired during the Battle on Blackwater! Here, Joffrey was a conquering hero, her brave and valiant king. Sansa would never know the difference. Tears were streaking down her face out of gladness to see him, and his heart beat wildly in his chest. They'd had their issues. But he'd known it all along: Sansa cared for him, and she was relieved he was alive.

"Now," Joffrey said, acting the part of a king who'd just won a great battle, all smiles, "I want to feel your lips upon my—my cock." _Yes, spoken like a real man. _Being in a role helped Joffrey feel confident, self-assured. He held his hands outward as if giving a magnificent speech, eyes not moving from Sansa's face. "Come, don't make me tell you again—"

"Of course not," Sansa said, bowing her head. Her red hair glinted with the light of the flickering candle upon her bedside and tears of joy still shone in her bright eyes. _You are so pretty, _Joffrey thought as she slowly brought her hand to his hardness. It was something he had not thought about for some time, but as Sansa stroked him there and then planted her lips softly on him, Joffrey sucked in air through his teeth, knees wobbling with anticipation.

"My lady," he muttered, and grabbed the top of Sansa's head, stroking her soft hair. "My lady Sansa, my lady…"

Sansa glanced upward, question in her eyes. "Does it feel good, my king?"

"Yes," Joffrey nodded, and gulped for air, excited, "fill your mouth with me. Give me my prize for protecting the realm."

"Yes, your grace. Of course." She put her mouth to his shaft again, this time opening her lips and encasing him inside her mouth. He opened his mouth and stared at the ceiling. It was hot and wet inside Sansa's cheeks and her tongue dusted the tip of his cock tentatively as Joffrey let out a small moan. It felt good, overwhelmingly good.

Joffrey pulled Sansa's hair slightly so that his cock bumped the back of her throat, and he moaned again, louder this time. _Yes, swallow it all, _he thought. Sansa let out a sputtering cough and Joffrey grinned down at her as she collected herself and took him in her mouth again. It was like a warm cocoon; he felt his cock sliding in and out of wetness, her tongue lapping him slightly as she went, and her lips securing him. Suctioning. He watched her bobbing up and down over his shaft, heard her sucking sounds, her red hair moving slightly to and fro and suddenly, the smile fell from his face.

_I've _done_ this before, _Joffrey thought, and he felt baffled, eager, and unwell at once."Stop!" he cried out and moved his hands out of her hair.

Instantly, Sansa took her mouth off him. "Did I hurt you?" she questioned. "I hadn't meant—"

"No!" Joffrey interrupted, shaking his head. He was flushed, and though he felt decidedly odd, his hardness pulsed and twitched with want still. "No, fine, I'm fine. You will now stand."

Sansa scrambled to her feet. "Yes, your grace," she said, tugging at her hair. She was casting her eyes at the floor and there was a moment of silence.

"I felt—I felt odd," Joffrey said. _Don't say another word, don't you say another word. She thinks you are her shining king, her warrior, don't say anything off. Don't sound like a bawling child._

"I am sorry, your grace," Sansa said. "You have never asked for that before. I've never done it. I've never even _heard _of doing it. If I upset you—"

"You have done nothing wrong," Joffrey said, and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to shake off the strange feeling, the jerk of memory. _It was nothing._ "Sansa," he said in a low tone.

"Yes, my king?"

He approached her, putting his hand to her face and caressing her cheek. He kissed her neck lightly.  
"Do you desire me?"

Sansa's head tilted with his touch and she nodded her head, eyes closing. "I do. You have not visited me in some time. Are you still angry with me?" Her voice was small and wavered slightly.

"Would I be here if I were angry?" Joffrey asked, slightly irritated. His impatience was growing, and he tugged at Sansa's dress, trying desperately to tear it from her body.

Her eyes opened to watch him. "I only ask because we are to be married soon. I want to do everything I can to please you. Every single thing I can." Her hands moved to her back and she set to work untying her bodice.

"You speak so sweetly, my lady," Joffrey said, heart thumping. "What's happened to you? Your words please me."

"I was being stupid before," she said, with another bow of her head. "I wasn't doing my duties. My only desire now is to be the best wife for you I can be. I will be everything you need. I do not wish to make you mad. I only want to make you smile, my king—"

"Yes!" Joffrey said, with a sigh of relief. "I want that, too! Now, Sansa, I shall tell you what it is I need. I need to be inside you, and I want us to enjoy my victory. After all, it is I who saved you from Stannis! So, let us rejoice! Hand me my sword!"

"Your—your sword, Joff?" Sansa asked, voice unsteady. "Why?"

Joffrey rubbed his hands together. "My sword, Sansa! Fetch it!"

She did as she was told, and handed him Hearteater with a nervous look on her pale face.

"Don't worry so, my sweet lady!" Joffrey grinned as he drew the sword to her chest and split her gown wide open, exposing her corset. He ripped her dress from her breasts, spun her around by the waist and then set Hearteater to her back. With a glorious _rip, _he split Sansa's top clothes open. She shuddered and he gave a delighted laugh, setting his sword to the floor. He admired her nude body, taking his hard shaft in his hand. Sansa stood with her back to him still; he licked his lips, staring at her shapely arse, the way she curved like his bow. He placed his fingers up between her thighs, one hand at her neck.

"Oh, no, Joffrey!" Sansa exclaimed, sounding a bit panicked. "Wait!"

He glared, disappointed in her. "Well, what is it?"

"My blood! My flowering! It's come again just today!"

"You sound upset," Joffrey whispered into her ear. He moved his mouth to her neck as he wedged his fingers further under her buttocks and toward her opening. "Why is that?"

"I hate it," Sansa said in a quiet voice, squirming a bit. "It's messy and it's humiliating. It gets everywhere. You'll find me disgusting."

"But without your blood, you wouldn't be able to wed me," Joffrey said in a throaty voice, and he took a bit of her ear lobe with his teeth. Sansa hummed out a moan. "Your flowering means you are truly a woman and that you will bear my children. That's going to happen as soon as possible. And you'll enjoy that, won't you?" He lightly palmed her entrance. "Your _duties_, as you said."

"Very much," she gasped. "It's only—it's going to be all over—"

"Bend over the bed," Joffrey commanded. "I want to enter you from behind and hold your waist as I put myself inside you."

"Are you sure you won't mind it?"

"I'm sure, I'm sure," Joffrey said, imagining the crimson staining him again like it had the first time he'd entered Sansa. His cock pulsed with want. With that, she hurried to the bed and put her hands firmly in place, casting him a wide-eyed look over her shoulder. Joffrey bit his lip and rubbed himself before striding over and groping for her entrance. When he slid in, she was very slick and he grunted. "Sansa," he gasped, and thrust hard into her. "I've missed you, I've missed this—"

"Joff!" she cried, gripping the pile of blankets on her bed. As he thrust in again, she whined out a long moan. He hesitated, forehead resting upon her back, and then he pushed into her again. And again.

With each sentence, he drove into Sansa's wet cunt:

"You feel so _very _good…"

_Deeper._

"My lady."

_Deeper.  
_  
"My lady, my lady."

_Harder._

"Sansa."

With each thrust, Sansa moaned and cried out. Turned on and inspired, Joffrey remembered the two prostitutes. He took his palm, pulled his arm far back, and slapped her firm arse. A magnificent _clap _rang out and he sputtered out an enthusiastic moan.

Sansa's shriek was charged and desperate. _"Joff," _she breathed out.

He gripped her by the hips. "I have to turn you 'round. I have to see your face, I have to see how I'm making you feel." He pulled out, admiring the thin layer of shiny, transparent red that coated him.

Sansa turned to look at him and caught him gaping at it. "I'm sorry," she said, blushing hot.

"For what?" Joffrey demanded. "Now drop to the bed and open your legs up for me."

"Yes, Joffrey!" Sansa said immediately and he smiled as she lay down, arms held above her head. As he sidled over her, she breathed out. "Joffrey," she said in a quiet voice, "the other night… when you visited me, you did something… You touched me, and I can't stop thinking about it." Her eyes averted his gaze, and her cheeks turned redder still.

_She thinks of me? _Surprised, Joffrey felt longing pulsing through him even stronger. "What do you think about?" he asked of her, climbing between her legs. "This?" he asked, and stuck two fingers inside her soaking cunt. He grinned. "Do you think about this?"

"Yes," Sansa shivered, "but you did something else, too. Please, Joff, please. Can I show you?" she whispered. "You did it so well."

"Yes, show me!" Joffrey said, his voice breathy and enthusiastic. Sansa took his hand from her core and placed it over her privates. "What? Here?"

"Right here," Sansa said. "Please Joffrey, it felt so good when you did that."

_I have no memory of doing this, but then again I do not remember much from that night, _Joffrey thought. He did not want to admit he didn't recall doing whatever it was, so instead, he rubbed his finger across her, searching for a clue. He felt pubic hair, and a bit of wetness, and then he raked over a small bit of skin, a bump so tiny he almost missed it. Sansa let out a moan, clenching her teeth and nodding her head. "This?" he asked, wondering what in hell's name it was that felt so good.

"_Please_," she urged him. "Please, your grace. It was good—"

Joffrey continued, using his pointer finger against the surface of her skin, working it slowly against the place she'd indicated. Very slightly, Sansa drew up her hips and began rubbing herself against his hand. He increased speed, added his thumb, and stroked her there.

"Yes!" Sansa said, "please, please, keep going!"

"And if I don't?" Joffrey leered, liking this game very much. He drew back his hand. _My Northern girl has taught me something interesting. Who'd have thought that was possible? My, how I like her crying out like this! Hear how she squeals, see how she squirms. I'm really doing good, aren't I?_

Sansa paused, her midsection raised in midair, eyebrows raised, too. "Please?" she questioned.

"Please what?" Joffrey laughed. "Please, _what_?"

"Please, your grace, please keep going," Sansa gasped, and she twitched her hips.

"And what?"

"Please, _please, _Joff, I need you to—I need you to touch me there, touch me fast, touch me…" Sansa trailed off and let her hips fall back to the bed, and she brought her own fingers to herself. They fluttered daintily over her, rapid but gentle.

He growled through his teeth. "_I _get to do it," he said and slapped her hand away, replacing it with his own. She let out a sigh and a pleased expression formed on her lips as he moved his fingers over her in a furious motion, pressing into the spot she'd said pleased her so very much.

"Oh! My king!" she breathed.

Joffrey laughed and then strummed his own hardness. It was sopping with pre-come and bits of blood. _I want to fuck her and I want to fuck her now. I'm bored with this. _

"Keep going! _Please!"_

"I'll keep going," Joffrey said, and pushed her legs apart. He lowered himself to her and this time, for the first time, she rose up hard with her hips to meet him. When he slipped back inside her, she gasped for air. He beamed and appreciated how she surrounded him, and how wet she was. He licked the crook of her neck and she bucked into him, startling him, though not in an unpleasant way. "You're covered," Joffrey noted, throwing a glance at Sansa's body, which was streaked with red.

"What?" she panted. "What, my king?"

"Covered in Stannis' blood," Joffrey offered with a grunt, excited by this vision, and he thrust into her fast, in and out. "Yes, yes, you feel good, Sansa. You like me inside you, don't you?"

"Yes!" Sansa exclaimed, and he took her firmly by the throat, choking her. "Yes, Joff—rey!" she choked.

As Sansa gasped, he delivered three quick pounds inside her. He let go and his shoulders quaked as he collapsed on her chest. His body convulsed as he came inside her, letting out a shuddering moan.

"My _queeeen,_" he groaned, grabbing a handful of her hair and stroking it. Finally, he pulled his soft cock out, his breath shuddery and his movements careful. He fell to the pillows beside Sansa and nestled into her, feeling happier with everything than he had in his life. "That was good." He glanced at Sansa, shoving his damp hair aside. "_Quite _good, in fact, wouldn't you say?"

"It was," she responded and he was happy to see her smile. "I really enjoyed it." Her tone was even. Sincere.

Joffrey smiled. "You know, very soon we are going to meet at the altar. I'm going to cloak you in Baratheon colors, and I'll take your hands in mine and I'll kiss you as if we've never kissed before. In front of the entire throne room, I'll lift you in my arms and do this!" He pulled Sansa into his arms and kissed her, pressing his tongue through her lips.

Sansa broke out of the kiss and gave a small laugh. _"Joff!" _she said, "Not in front of the court! Not in from of your family!"

"No? No, you're correct, I suppose. I'll kiss you like this. " He pushed his mouth on hers again, gentle and passionate. "How's that?"

"That will be best in front of your mother, I think," Sansa said, giving him an affectionate smile. "Can I kiss you?" she asked obediently.

Joffrey nodded. "Yes, I'll allow it." She turned her head to kiss him on the cheek several times as he went on talking. "She'll be _your _mother, soon." Joffrey stroked her soft hair, and then laid his head across Sansa's breasts. "And Tommen, your brother." He paused to kiss her chest. "And I'll be your husband. Your king," he whispered. "You'll be mine."

"I'm—I'm yours _now_, Joffrey," Sansa said at once, sounding puzzled. She ran her hand through his hair.

"Yes, but, when we're married I can do whatever I wish with you!" Joffrey said joyously, sitting up. "See? I can bite you, I can use my nails as hard as I wish... Leave great marks all over your neck and breasts, even your face. And no one can say a thing!" He giggled, very thrilled by the prospect.

After that, Sansa went quiet until Joffrey kissed her on the neck and slid his fingers back over that mysterious place. "Let me hear you moan. Moan for your king," he said and Sansa exhaled sharply, her legs wriggling apart as she arched her back. Soon, she was crying out his name, a euphoric smile on her face. Joffrey was rigid again and he drove into her right then, gripping her buttocks with his nails and muttering again and again, "My Sansa, my beautiful Sansa" until he could hold back no longer. He held her firmly at her waist, his nails digging in, and in seconds, he came hard inside her.

Finally, they were working well together, _really _ready for their wedding and nothing was ever going to tear them apart.

* * *

**A/N:** To my wonderful readers- this originally held a lot more, but I do not want to overwhelm anyone with my long chapters. How do you feel about longer chapters vs. shorter ones? How did you like the start of Part Two? From here on out, it's going to be a lot darker, will vary hugely from show and book canon (but will follow the book characterization of Joffrey closer) and _much _more sexual. And of course, there will be new characters on the scene to make Joffrey and Sansa's very odd relationship even more complicated. Please review and let me know what you think. I appreciate each one of you.


	25. Little Rose

A/N: Thank you for the reviews and feedback. From here on, expect more frequent updates and shorter chapters. Hearing everyone's guesses about Joffrey's past and predictions for what is to come is awesome. I can't wait to post more.

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Chapter 25- _Little Rose_

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..  
SANSA  
..

* * *

Joffrey kissed Sansa's forehead softly before stepping out of bed and pulling his clothes on, casting her a complimentary look as he pulled his tunic on and buttoned his breeches. Sansa smiled at him. Her cheeks were warm and there was a pleasant buzzing inside her core that still flowed up to her stomach. She felt shaken, and as if she was perhaps not in her own body. As Sansa stretched dreamily, her long red hair flopping over her face and her naked body sprawled across her pillows, she considered the turn of events.

_I will never return to the north, _she thought as her king gazed upon his own reflection and smoothed his rumpled hair. _My prayers did not work. It is likely the Gods have given up on me. I'm not meant to leave my Joffrey. This is my life. I suppose if all of our days together are like this from now on, I can try to accept Joffrey as my one true love. This bedding was actually satisfactory. More than satisfactory, _she amended, and she blushed hot at the realization she'd deeply enjoyed feeling Joffrey's shaft deep inside her, his thin fingers on her parts. Between her legs, she was hot where he'd released his seed and she could still feel a throbbing ache from his hardness, but it felt good. _We'll marry as soon as possible, that's what Joff said. Perhaps I can pick out my dress and maybe, if I do not annoy him, he will let me invite my mother. Asking if Robb can come is a very bad idea, but my mother is not a traitor. Hopefully Joff will see that, too, and will allow me to have her there. I very much want her to see me get married and to get me ready. Shae is very good but I only want Mother to arrange my hair. _

"Goodnight, my queen," Joffrey said quietly, and he kissed her forehead. "I must sleep now. I've had a very busy night and I believe there will be much to be done in the morn. No doubt I will have to arrange a celebratory festival for my victory! Then, I'll demand we set a date for the royal wedding. Before you know it, I will be spinning you in my arms. You _do _like to dance, don't you, my lady?"

Sansa could not help but smile from ear to ear as she nodded. She felt heat flicker between her legs at Joffrey's touch, though she was still wondering about his words just minutes ago. _'When we're married, I can do whatever I wish with you,' _he'd said gleefully. Sansa decided if he continued doing just what he'd done tonight, that would be fine. She'd felt different, especially after he'd used his hands on her. It was easier to accommodate him, easier to enjoy the feeling of him sliding in and out of her. His breath had felt nice in her ear and on her neck and when he'd slapped her buttocks, Sansa had actually felt a sliver of… Something.

Was it _excitement_?

She racked her brain for an answer as Joffrey took her hand and kissed it. The sensation of Joff's large palm striking her had made the panging inside her privates heat up something fierce. She decided she was just accepting her fate. If Joffrey liked such things, then she would be a good girl and enjoy what he was doing. Sansa kissed his fingers, too, and bit her lip as he let her go and instead ran his hand over the length of her back.

"Goodnight, your grace," Sansa shivered, and Joffrey finally made his way to the door, throwing her yet another approving glance before he departed.

_Sansa Stark is sad she cannot go home. Sansa Stark is sad Stannis did not siege the castle, _she thought. _But I will not be that silly girl. I will be Queen Sansa, and Queen Sansa is more than happy to live in King's Landing. Queen Sansa stands beside her good king and does what he likes, but she doesn't just _do _those things. She likes them, too, just as much as he does because even when he hurts her, he makes her feel very good, too. Everyone in Westeros will love Queen Sansa and King Joffrey. _

Grasping onto one of her pillows, she squeezed it tightly and curled her toes with a small smile on her face. She wanted to call for a bath, but she was much too exhausted. And, truth be told, she also did not want the pleasurable buzzing between her thighs to get all washed away.

..  
JOFFREY  
..

Joffrey faded into slumber with the image of Sansa draped across her bed embedded in his mind: the way she lounged across her pillows as she smiled up at him, her moon white legs long and her crimson, soft hair spread over her mattress like unraveled silk.

And he dreamed of Sansa, too. He dreamed he was sitting on the edge of his bed, raking his hands through her red hair as she stood above him. _'So sweet,' _she said, _'You are perfect.' _But then something flashed in her eyes, something callous, something that made it look like she looked out of sharpened jewels instead of pupils and Joffrey realized it wasn't Sansa's hair he was stroking at all. Sansa was indeed tall, but this girl loomed over him, casting a shadow across his bed. _'And you'll never say a word, will you?' _she hissed, a yowling cat of a voice emitting from her long throat. _'If you say anything, to anyone, I'll cut your pretty throat.' _Hands stretched out of the darkness and reached for him, and he backed up, terrified.

Then the scene changed again, and here was Sansa, the _real _Sansa. Joffrey was strolling with her hand-in-hand in the courtyard.

'_I am sorry, my king. I'm so sorry,' _Sansa kept saying. Joffrey wanted to tell her not to worry, that it was nothing but he could not form the words to speak.

"Joffrey. Joff. You must rise, now, love."

Joffrey woke up with a start, eyes adjusting to the darkness in his room. Mother was standing by his nightstand, lifting open the canopy.

"I only just went to sleep a few hours ago! What is it? Go away," he mumbled sleepily before lying back down and closing his eyes. His dreams were a distant thought now, erased by his mother awakening him.

She caressed his foot through the coverlet and he kicked her away. "Joffrey, there was a request for a small council meeting to be held at once, everyone thought it would be best if you-"

Joffrey groaned and covered his head with the blanket. "What for?"

"This is important, Joffrey. You must rise. You need to firstly give your gratitude to both your grandfather and Lord Baelish. Baelish came through in a way I never thought he could, he'll certainly be sniffing for praise and I must say that this time he deserves it—"

"Attend in my stead."

"As the king, you need to graciously extend your thanks—"

"He's only my grandfather. Why should I treat him in a special way? Tell him thank you for me, though you _should _ask what took him so long," Joffrey said, and buried his head into the pillow.

"Joffrey!" Mother said impatiently.

He jerked his head from the bed. "_What?" _he snapped.

"You will want to attend this small council. Believe me," she said.

He grumbled as he got out of bed, though he followed her all the same. They said nothing as they walked the halls and when they entered the large, dark room, four faces swiveled around to look at them. Varys, Pycelle, Lord Baelish and Grandfather Tywin all rose. Joffrey was glad to see Grandfather, but he cared not one way or the other about Lord Baelish. Baelish was oily and odd, though Joffrey supposed he did hold a good amount of power for someone born to nothing.

"Your grace," Grandfather said, and he bowed his head. Joffrey hadn't laid eyes on him in some time. He was a stately man to be admired and respected. His precision for matters of war was unmatched, and he was skilled hunter, too.

"Grandfather Tywin," Joffrey greeted, wiping sleep from his eyes and dropping to the seat at the end of the table. The other men followed suit, and Mother sat beside him. She gave him an expectant look. "Er. My thanks to you for your assistance at Blackwater this past night. We could not have gone forth without you." _Of course, if I had needed to, I could have done just as well. _

"You have saved the realm," Mother went on. "For that, we are in your debt, Father. We are beyond pleased to have you back, and are confident in you as the true hand of the king."

"Hand of the king?" Joffrey asked in delight. "Grandfather, you're to be my hand? How good. No more Uncle Tyrion!"

Grandfather gave a tight-lipped smile. "I too am made glad by my position. I am here to assist you and continue to restore order. As for the Battle on Blackwater, I was able to conquer over Stannis with the help of several fine people. Lord Baelish deserves deep praise for his arrangement with House Tyrell—"

"House Tyrell?" Joffrey asked. "From Highgarden? What have they done for us?"

"They were called upon to serve us in the battle," Mother said quickly, looking around. "Joffrey, you _knew _that."

Joffrey was about to argue. He'd never gotten that information, unless it had been given to him when he was otherwise preoccupied, in which case it was not his fault that he was ignorant to it.

"Your grace," Petyr Baelish said, giving a deep drop of his head. "Ser Loras Tyrell defended your kingdom in battle with a strong group of men. They came to your aid just in time—"

"Ah, very well!" Joffrey yawned noisily. "We shall give him high honor for that. Give him what he likes. And thank you, Lord Baelish. For…" He trailed off, at a loss for words. Baelish waited, smiling politely and folding his hands in front of him on the table.

"For your admirable display of loyalty," Mother finished.

"Yes," Joffrey agreed, and yawned again. "Exactly what I was thinking. We should reward you as well. With er—with-…" He looked to his mother.

It was Tywin who spoke. "I thought Harrenhal would be sufficient, your grace. I have already addressed this offering with Lord Baelish, and he is beyond grateful—"

"Good, good," said Joffrey with a shrug. _What do I care about Harrenhal? _"Now can it be done with? I'm tired." There was a light bout of laughter from round the table and Joffrey glowered.

"The king did not sleep well," Mother put in, by way of explanation, and Joffrey was about to tell her to shut up when Baelish went on.

"No doubt his grace will need rest," he agreed. He met Joffrey's eyes. "I give my apologies for disturbing your slumber, King Joffrey_,_ and I express my deepest gratitude for your generosity,but what you said just now, about Ser Loras Tyrell being rewarded?" There was a thick pause and Joffrey yawned again, losing interest.

"_Joffrey,_" Mother said, and gave him a sharp look. "Pay attention, please—"

"Do you wish to tell him, Lord Tywin?" Baelish asked.

"Tell me what?" Joffrey snapped.

Grandfather nodded and addressed Joffrey slowly and deeply. "Your grace. There will be a ceremony as soon as King's Landing is salvaged. This shall only take several days. We will make the throne room as presentable as we can and you will give a royal decree to the court, honoring Baelish and Loras Tyrell for their service to your realm. For their faithfulness to the throne—"

"Yes, that's all well," Joffrey interrupted with a wave of his hand. "Give them what they like and tell me what I should say. Like always." He glared in the direction of his mother. _She definitely could have attended in my stead. I could be sleeping. This is ridiculous. _

"That is just it, your grace," Grandfather went on, volume increasing. Joffrey twitched his nose, growing impatient. "We have called you to this small council for a very important matter. Tyrell House has requested you take into consideration their request, their reward for their solid steadfastness to your reign." He cleared his throat. "It would be prudent for you to drop your betrothal with the Stark girl and instead wed Margaery Tyrell, thus uniting the houses Tyrell and—"

"Wait!" Joffrey said loudly, and put up his hand. Tywin raised his eyebrows. "What are you talking about? Is this a joke?"

"No, this is not a _joke_. I know not how my son has been acting as hand but I can assure you, your grace, that I do not make a habit of acting as a jester at small council. Or anywhere else," said Grandfather curtly. He glowered as if to prove his point. "You are to wed the Tyrell girl as soon as time permits it. This will solidify this important alliance between—"

"I will not," Joffrey retorted, crossing his arms. His heart began to thump. "You're all mad if you think I will. What say do I have in this matter? I am the king! I am marrying Sansa! Sansa is my betrothed! I took a sacred oath!"

"He did!" Pycelle cut in, sounding distressed. "This is a very disturbing idea indeed—"

"My father called forth that arrangement! My FATHER!" Joffrey screamed and he stood up, slapping the table.

"Cersei?" Grandfather questioned, raising his eyebrows and frowning.

"Joffrey," Mother began, standing, too. Joffrey held onto the table, rocking back and forth slightly, his teeth clenched. "Think of the political alliance, Joffrey. Sansa is nothing to us now. What good can come of your wedding her? Her brother Robb declares himself king of the north. Her father openly plotted against you. Sansa is, by relation, treasonous. My son, you have said it yourself—"

"Do you wish to sully the realm, your grace?" Tywin went on in that stern, loud voice. The volume made Joffrey want to roll his eyes but he held back. "Margaery Tyrell will make you a good wife and besides, the Tyrells will continue to support your reign. There is no choice in this matter. There are times when kings must do what is expected of them, something I believe has gone forgotten in my absence." He shot a look at Mother, who bowed her head for some reason.

"Sansa is mine!" Joffrey fumed. "She has been punished for her treasonous family, and so I will wed her!" His thoughts snapped back to hours prior, making Sansa smile and moan beneath him as he slapped her behind and drove his hardness inside her. _She is mine, and I love her! _He thought, fury whipping through him, burning hot.

Grandfather Tywin got to his feet as well, and he stared Joffrey down icily from the other end of the table. "The Starks are our enemies. No one knows better than me. I was in the north. I was on the battlefield, killing Robb Stark's savage men. Sansa Stark is still in our charge, but marrying her will not improve you! Nor will it do well for the kingdom!"

"I DON'T CARE!" shouted Joffrey, suddenly disliking him very much. Varys and Pycelle had their eyes averted. Baelish smiled politely. Grandfather Tywin looked in danger of splitting a nerve in his temple.

"Joff," Mother said, her voice steady and low as she put her arms on his back and massaged him gently. He shook her off and so instead she placed one careful hand on his shoulder. "Joff, listen to what I about to tell you.I am sorry to tell you ill news but Lady Sansa was the first woman to deceive us whilst we waited for the battle to cease in the Red Keep. While other women waited for our victory, for _your _victory, Sansa stood up and fled. She was hoping Stannis would save her. She was praying for Stannis to prevail the entire time. Rather than stay with hope in her heart, she fled. If our heads were on pikes, Sansa would be working over Lord Stannis as we speak. Who knows how she'd try to beguile him. I do not wish to think about it." Joffrey jerked his head up to look at her and she gave him a sad smile.

"SHE DID WHAT?" Joffrey hollered. He shook with rage at these words, taking in breaths to work to calm himself. Mother massaged his arm again and this time, he let her. _Not my Sansa! Not my beloved Sansa!_

"Cersei, is this true?" Tywin inquired. "You did not mention this to me yet!"

"Why wouldn't it be true? My son has declared her a treasonous wretch time and time again. The court has thought his methods with Sansa heavy-handed. Even _Tyrion_ has spoken against his word. But I saw it with my own eyes," Mother said, raising her voice. "Joffrey has been right the entire time. Sansa is a traitor who will do anything, say anything to get to the north."

"If this is true," Joffrey said, his voice trembling with anger, "then Sansa shall be sorely punished for her new acts of treachery. I will interrogate her later—"

Tywin cleared his throat. "Your grace, with the information I have already gathered and this new development of events, I plead for you to drop Sansa Stark in favor of marrying into House Tyrell—"

"But Sansa belongs to me," Joffrey hissed. "I want her here. I get to decide what's to be done with Sansa and no one else!"

"We will discuss the matter of Sansa at another time. We must move on!" Grandfather Tywin said, and although his tone was low, it was still a bit testy.

"Fine! Now as for this so-called alliance with the Tyrells," Joffrey went on, clenching his fists. He dropped back down to his chair and Mother followed. "Why can't I just give them something else?"

"Your grace. This is the arrangement!" Tywin said sternly, and he sat, too. "They wish to wed you with Margaery—"

"I heard you!" Joffrey huffed. "But I don't know her! Who is this girl, anyway?"

Tywin cleared his throat. "And where did you ever get the idea you should be so privileged to know everything about your future queen? Have you ever asked your mother about her betrothal to your father?"

"My mother wasn't the king!" Joffrey said rudely.

"Your grace, if I may answer your question about Lady Margaery?" Baelish asked, bowing his head. All eyes went to him. "I became acquainted with Lady Margaery a short time ago. She is very well-suited for you, and I believe she will please you. She was wed very briefly to your uncle Renly—"

"My uncle _Renly?" _Joffrey shouted. "You'll throw me a used up widow? Like table scraps to a pig?"

"This will not stand!" Pycelle cried out mournfully.

"Used up, your grace?" Baelish said and gave a brisk shake of his head. "No, certainly not. Your uncle did not touch her and she remains a virgin. Margaery is sweet and she, if I may be so bold, is very, very beautiful." Joffrey narrowed his eyes. "But I know my words do not hold much merit. Which is why we wish for you to look upon Lady Margaery for yourself. We ask that you tell us whether she suits your tastes."

At this, Joffrey fell silent for a moment. _Look upon her for myself? When I was told to wed Sansa, I was not allowed to do as such. I was told straight away she was my betrothed and to treat her kindly. Now I am to look upon this Tyrell bitch and see for myself if I like her? Like a new mare? And so what if I say I do not wish to ride this mare? _

He spoke again, carefully this time. "What happens if I deem her ugly?"

"Your grace, your eye for beauty is keen. I doubt very much you will find Lady Margaery ugly," Lord Baelish said with a thin smile.

"I'll decide that for myself," Joffrey shot back. "So when do I get to see her? Where is she?"

"She is waiting just outside the door, your grace," said Grandfather Tywin. "She wishes you to see her and judge her this morn."

"Very well," Joffrey said, and sniffed haughtily, ready to be unimpressed. He ran a hand through his hair. "Send in the Tyrell girl." Baelish rose and strode to the door, casting it open. Joffrey studied his fingernails, acting bored. As a man spoke, he looked up.

"King Joffrey Baratheon, my name is Loras Tyrell of House Tyrell," announced a curly-haired man in knight's armor. "I speak to you in place of my father Mace Tyrell. He has asked I humbly call to you to view my sister—"

"I know you!" interrupted Joffrey with excitement, finally interested. "You fought against the Mountain that Rides in a tourney this past year! You won! You did well! And then the Mountain lopped the head off his horse!" He laughed and rubbed his hands together, overjoyed by the memory. "Welcome to King's Landing!"

"Yes, thank you, your grace. I am honored you remember me as such," Ser Loras said, and he gave a deep, poised bow.

"That was the only part of that afternoon that did not bore me to death," Joffrey replied. "Of course I remember. And I give you my gratitude for your assistance. Now, you have something for me?"

Loras stood up straight. "Your grace, yes. It is with both excitement and nervousness that I present you with my sister, Lady Margaery Tyrell, in hopes that you will deem her a decent choice for bride. Or I should hope very much, _more _than simply decent. In Highgarden, she is known as the little rose for her beauty and composure." He bowed again. "She is looking very forward to meeting you—"

"Yes, well, send her in,_" _Joffrey ordered. Grandfather Tywin rubbed his forehead.

"Of course, your grace. King Joffrey Baratheon, may I please introduce you to my sister, Lady Margaery Tyrell?"

A moment later, the door opened and shut. A young woman stepped in and walked slowly toward the long table. Her head was bowed down, and her face was masked by long dark ringlets that pooled over her shoulders. She wore a gown of deep red and though Joffrey could scarcely make out what she looked like, his eyes fell upon her plunging neckline which exposed a deep line of cleavage. Despite himself, he gawked at her bare skin.

When Lady Margaery finally stood by her brother, she fell into a long and graceful curtsy. Joffrey's eyes stayed firmly attached to her breasts as they all but spilled forth from her gown. As she rose, she made eye contact with him and he exhaled. She had huge dark eyes like those of a young doe, and her lips were plump and small. When Joffrey cast his eyes upon her face, she shyly averted her eyes and gave a slight smile, as if made nervous by his attention. He had to admit to himself that she _was _lovely. _Different _from Sansa. He decided he didn't like her, though. Not at all.

"I hear your family wants to wed you to me, Lady Margaery," Joffrey said dully.

She twisted her hands in front of her and locked eyes with him briefly, a warm smile on her lips. "Yes, your grace," she whispered.

Joffrey found himself smiling back, even though he wanted to stay irritated. How could he be irritated with this girl, this striking and coy thing gazing upon him with such reverence? "How old are you?"

"Seventeen, your grace. Nearer to eighteen, for my Name Day approaches," she said at once. _Two years above me. __A real woman, _Joffrey thought, and he licked his lips.

"And you were married to my uncle for how long?"

"Not even two months," Margaery replied. "I did my duty to my father by marrying Renly. Please find it in your heart to believe how sorry I am. I was only following orders. I know that you are the only king. The true king." She fell to her knees, hands clasped before her.

"Yes, I am," said Joffrey proudly. "You may stand, Lady Margaery." She obeyed, that small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. "Turn around once for me."

Margaery complied and Joffrey surveyed her body with great interest. She was shorter than Sansa and had a smaller frame, but her body was curvy and well-proportioned. Joffrey liked her small frame and her pert breasts. She looked back at him with a wide-eyed expression that made the breath catch in his throat. As much as Joffrey wanted to hate her, his mouth was going dry.

Joffrey wondered if marrying Margaery would upset Sansa—would it teach her a lesson? _I do not wish to make Margaery my queen. That is Sansa's job and only Sansa's. However, Lady Margaery seems very appealing. There could be worse things. After all, I do feel sorry for the poor idiot saddled with my sister. At least Margaery speaks well and is a charming girl! I could have been thrown a hideous cow. _

"Lord Baelish says you are untouched," Joffrey went on as he peeled his eyes from her breasts yet again. "Is this true?"

"It is, your grace," Margaery nodded. Her eyes looked to Mother, and then Grandfather. "I am innocent," she said in a shy tone, "though I have had my blood for nearly three years now. I have not been with any man."

"Joffrey," Mother began, smiling a bit nervously. "What is it you think? Will you do the great honor to your realm of accepting this offer and solidifying our alliance with House Tyrell?"

Joffrey considered his options. Were there any? As pretty as Margaery was, Joffrey deeply wanted Sansa. But then again, Mother was right about Sansa's traitorous family. And hadn't it been tumultuous lately, despite Sansa's recent compliance? Their back and forth relationship to each other had been hot and cold. Sometimes, it was as if Sansa was vapid, uncaring. Joffrey stared at Margaery as he brooded, weighing out his thoughts.

_A king can have exactly who he likes. That's the way it is. If I want Sansa, I will have her, whether I marry Margaery or not. Sansa is mine, queen or not. They cannot stop me. What does it matter who I marry, as long as I can still see Sansa when I wish? I'll be like my father, having any woman I like, whenever I please. I'll have a thousand women if I want! _

"I'd like time to think!" Joffrey called out, "but I admit you please me, Lady Margaery. I am touched by your interest in me."

"Please, King Joffrey, may I speak?" Margaery asked timidly, and Joffrey's heart pumped at her submission. He nodded and she stepped forward toward him. Her voice was sweet and soft, clear as a ringing bell. "I know this is such short notice and at an early hour, too. I know you have a betrothed and I hear she is very beautiful. I don't think I can match her but I want you to know I have heard of you and, well, I think you are a hero. Your deeds have not gone unrecognized in Highgarden."

A big smile sprung up on Joffrey's face and he looked excitedly around the table. "You may go on, my lady," he said with great interest.

"Forgive me if I am too bold," Margaery said, and set to work wringing her hands at the front of her gown once more. "I heard tales of your bravery and your handsome face. Tales of a valiant young king with skills beyond his young years, skills in swordsmanship and archery to rival some of the most feared warriors."

Joffrey felt a smile twist upon his lips and he shifted in his chair excitedly.

Margaery went on. "I have to say, my heart is beating fast and I have butterflies in my stomach just looking at you, your grace. You are even handsomer than they said. Forgive me," she said quietly, and looked away. "I sound like a silly little girl."

Joffrey smiled harder and he leaned forward. "You are, of course, forgiven. Would it please you so much to be my queen? To be my wife?" _Who are you, Lady Margaery? You say such perfect things._

"More than anything in the world, your grace, but it is your decision," Margaery said, and she stepped back behind her brother Ser Loras. _What a sweet creature._

Margaery's words were like sunlight and Joffrey wanted to bathe in them. He looked to his mother, and they shared a smile. "Lady Margaery," Joffrey said loudly without another thought, "I believe it would be very good to unite our houses!"

Margaery's face lit up and she grasped her brother's arm with joy briefly before clapping gaily. "Oh, your grace!" she said. "My heart is very glad!"

"As is mine," Joffrey said easily, grinning back at her.

"Very well, your grace! A very wise decision indeed, if I may say so," Grandfather Tywin said. "And does this please you, Ser Loras? Will it please your family?"

"Thank you, your grace. Thank you, Lord Tywin," Loras said. "We will prepare for the announcement in court. We will meet when summoned to go over our words so that it runs smoothly." Loras bowed again and Margaery curtsied behind him. Joffrey smiled widely at her and she grinned, averting her eyes shyly again. As the Tyrells bid their farewells, Joffrey stood again.

"Margaery!" he shouted with happiness in his voice. She turned, eyes wide and innocent, with that smile pulling at her mouth. He puffed out his chest. "During the decree, will you say what you said to the small council just now? About my bravery? Will you tell the entire court what you think of me?"

Lady Margaery fluttered her long eyelashes and nodded very slightly, bringing up her small shoulders as she wove her hands together. "Of course, your grace." She caught his eyes. "I will say anything for you. I will do anything for you. I am yours now."

Joffrey beamed as Margaery and Loras walked from the room. Instead of the anger he'd felt initially, he now looked forward to the new turn of events. Perhaps this would _strengthen _his relation with Sansa. With Margaery as queen, he could have Sansa any way he liked. The idea that he now had two beautiful women in his clutches was exciting indeed. Why had he not considered this before?

_But still, I must punish Sansa for her lies. It breaks me to think she was dishonest. Perhaps my mother was wrong but I don't think so. How could Sansa do such a thing to me? _

The room was clearing. Tywin gave Joffrey a severe sort of smile. "I am glad we settled that matter in a timely manner, your grace," he said. "You must be _exhausted._"

"Yes," Joffrey said. "Very tired, and I'll be glad to go to bed. You know, I wouldn't have agreed to this arrangement but Lady Margaery is very pleasing. I believe she will make a suitable wife." _But Sansa! _Came the little voice in the back of his head.

"I am happy to hear it, your grace," Tywin said. "As it is, I myself must retire to my new chambers. I too was made weary by the battle. I bid you goodnight and I will see you in the afternoon. I want to call forth another small council to discuss your decree—"

"Oh, I do not think I should have to attend. I don't usually make a habit of it," Joffrey shrugged. "You can come tell me how it went after."

Tywin raised his brow and looked to Mother before opening his mouth to speak. Seemingly thinking better of it, he bid them a good night and left the room.

Mother took Joffrey's arm. "My sweet boy. Do you think you will be made happy by this arrangement?"

"Happy enough," said Joffrey at once. "But I must speak to Sansa. If she truly has acted in the manner you say, she must be given a punishment."

Mother spoke tentatively. "Do you think perhaps Sansa has endured enough? You can let her go now, Joff. She will no longer be your wife-"

"She still belongs to me," Joffrey argued. "I'll never let her go." _I love her, _he thought. _Traitor or not. So help me, I love her. _

"Can you really blame her for wishing to return to her home, Joff?" Mother asked. She had a look in her eyes Joffrey could not identify. "Do you really wish to punish her, as you say?"

"Of course I do," he responded at once. "She can't be trusted! I really did thing she'd learned something." He excused himself, trying to keep calm. _Sleep will help, _he thought. _And then I will decide how to go about this issue. I must not look as if I care when I see Sansa next. Sansa will never know of my feelings. No one will know! _

"Joffrey!" called Mother. "Joffrey, please reconsider—"

He wasn't listening.


	26. I am Not the Rabbit

Chapter 26- _I am Not the Rabbit_

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..  
SANSA  
..

She woke up with a smile on her face as sunlight flooded into her window. It came seeping into the transparent white canopy and it made her remember how beautiful she'd thought King's Landing was way, way back in the beginning. Before everything went wrong. _You mustn't think about that, _she reprimanded herself, pulling her untidy hair back and combing it through her fingers. _Old Sansa would, and you can't be simply Sansa anymore. Queen Sansa cares not for what happened back before anything mattered. When _Queen _Sansa sits beside her handsome and good King Joffrey, she won't think about anything except her future with him. If Queen Sansa acts very good, he might even allow her to see her family. And perhaps she can persuade Robb to quit acting so foolish. Then maybe she can lay eyes upon him again, even persuade him to stop fighting, and Rickon, and Bran—they aren't traitors. Arya, too. She's a brat, but no traitor. Joff might realise that. He might. _

_Maybe it will all be fine. This could be the very best time of Sansa's life. She must think to the future. _

I _must think to the future. _

Between her legs, she still ached, and when she used her chamber pot, she could feel it—the tender twinge mixed with wetness. It did not burn. It smoldered and throbbed, making her red, making her sigh aloud. Something had been utterly different last evening. When Joff had used his fingers, it made her want more of him. It was different than when she stuck her fingers inside her core, or even when he did it. When fingers danced on that place at the hood of her privates, Sansa felt _good. _ The best part was, the guilt was fading. She actually continued smiling as she combed her hair, and hummed to herself.

It was all becoming a reality. They'd have a gorgeous, huge wedding and they'd dance until they were dizzy. There would be amazing desserts (even lemon cakes, perhaps!), lively music, and she would wear a breathtaking dress. And Joffrey, as much of a monster as he'd been in the past, would look simply dashing as her lord husband. For all his antics, he knew the customs of court, and Sansa had absolutely no doubt Joff would look his best and make certain everything was perfect. If anyone else in the world had Sansa's eye for splendor, it was King Joffrey. She imagined him in red and black velvet, a golden collar on his throat, twirling her in his arms, his breath in her ear. She squirmed pleasantly. Almost as if she was meeting him for the first time in Winterfell (_don't think of Lady, don't think of the butcher's boy_), Sansa's heart was all aflutter.

It was like she had told the Hound before he had disappeared: If she did not have to love, Joffrey, then she would not. But, because she had to love Joffrey, she _would_ love him, with all of her soul. After all, what did she have? Whenever she had thoughts that were against him, whenever she imagined other realities in his presence, he could smell it like a fox sniffs out a rabbit. And Sansa did not want to be a rabbit. Not anymore.

When Shae thrust open the door, holding a tray of scones and tea, Sansa greeted her with an enthusiastic smile. Her excitement was not returned. Shae, in contrast, looked a bit harried.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Shae plopped the tray down upon the vanity in front of Sansa. "My lady," she burst out, and then lowered her voice, "I am so very sorry—"

At once, Sansa turned to face her handmaiden, her mouth turning down. "What do you mean, you're _sorry, _Shae? Why would you be sorry? Joffrey has won! King's Landing still belongs to him!" She cleared her throat and turned back to the mirror, to the tray of scones. For the first time in weeks, she was absolutely famished. When she took a bite of the moist bread filled with sweet berries, she felt her senses near the verge of overload. She wondered if Joff was eating the same break fast, if he was getting the same sensation. She wondered when she'd see him again. She wanted to feel what she'd felt last night.

But then again, perhaps it would not be proper, now? They'd gone as far as they had with no one but the Hound and Shae knowing they'd been intimate. Maybe now that their destiny was certain, they could wait a bit. They could recapture their innocence, and when they had each other on their wedding night, it would be new. And perfect. Taking another bite of scone, Sansa grinned at her reflection in the mirror. She thought of Joffrey's looks at her last night. She knew he looked at her with want in his eyes. She was _his. _ His beautiful queen.

(_Don't think about Arya or Father or his threats or his hand inside you when you were a maid, making you shriek and pretend. Don't, don't you ever think about those things again._)

Behind her reflection, Shae's was solemn. Her black eyebrows jutted upward.

Suddenly, Sansa remembered. "Gods, Shae!" she said, and whipped around. "Lord Tyrion! Is he—"

"He lives," said Shae, but she did not look altogether happy. "He is badly deformed. His face was torn to bits as if he was ravaged by wild dogs—"

"Oh, _Shae_," warbled Sansa, trying to deliver empathy. However, she was too caught up in trying her best to make do with King Joffrey. At least Lord Tyrion was alive. He was _already_ badly deformed. Would this really make _that _much of a difference? Shouldn't Shae be happy? "I'm sorry to hear of his wounds! He must have fought bravely—"

"He did," Shae said, her voice choking up. "At the moment, he is in very poor condition but he _is _awake. They've stripped him of his titles. He is no longer the Hand. Lord Tywin has stepped up to that task—"

"Lord Tywin?" Sansa questioned shakily. She'd heard the name, surely, but not in some time.

"Tywin Lannister. My lord's father—"

_Another Lannister, _thought Sansa, a swirl of panic in her stomach. She chocked it up to hunger. "Joff's grandfather," she said, turning back to the breakfast tray. "I'll have to make a good impression for him. I hope he likes me."

"I don't think Lord Tywin likes anyone," Shae said.

"Well, I want him to like _me_," Sansa said, putting on that smile again.

"My lady…What we discussed yesterday… You seemed… Balanced. Today, you do not seem yourself."

Sansa's light brows drew up to rival her handmaiden's. "Balanced? And what does that mean, Shae? Joffrey had won. Don't you see? I'm going to be queen. I'm going to be Joffrey's queen." Her voice became an excited whisper. After all, she had to make Shae understand. "He came to see me last night, you know. To tell me of his victory. Imagine. The battle had just gotten over with and I was the first he thought of. _My beautiful queen, _he called me. We—well, we were so happy, Shae. You wouldn't believe it."

"No," said the handmaiden loftily. "I wouldn't."

"Well. What is that supposed to mean?" Sansa challenged lightly before taking a sip of tea. "Are you doubting our king?"

Shae's voice dropped to a whisper and she dropped beside Sansa. At once, Sansa hated that she was trying to appeal to her, trying to make her see sense, and she turned red even before Shae began to speak. _"Tyrion_—" (She whispered the little lord's name as if it were an affliction, which Sansa supposed she would do if she was cursed to love a man as disgraceful as the Imp)—"he was blindsided during the battle. He thinks he was plotted against. He thinks they meant to do away with him. But before that idiot Moore tried to put a sword to his neck, he was there with the king in the barracks. Listen to me, Sansa and listen to me hard. King Joffrey did not win the battle." Shae's whisper was hot and violent in Sansa's eardrum. "He stood like a foolish little boy and whimpered the entire time. He _cried,_ Sansa, while men were dying in the dirt and muck. At the first excuse he got to leave, he ran off, and his men suffered. King Joffrey did nothing. My little lord tells me. Your king ran for his mother while others died—"

"Oh, Shae, I can't care," Sansa snapped, sounding like the girl she'd been when she'd first met Shae, when Shae had helped her dress her wounds after getting beaten by Meryn and Boros. '_By Joffrey's orders, nitwit!' _called Arya's voice into her mind.

Sansa sat up straighter. Arya had not cared to speak to her in weeks. _Shut up, Arya. You don't do me any good. I'll be queen now and I mustn't think silly thoughts like that! Meryn and Boros beat me, and that's that. Imagine, and I was thinking of bringing you back here for a visit. You're always just too rude! _

"Lady Sansa?" Shae questioned dubiously. "I beg your pardon. I was not intending to be rude, I simply-"

"Rude?" Sansa asked, confused. _I never called _Shae _rude. I called _Arya _rude, and not aloud, either. _ "I said nothing about you being rude!"

Shae's eyebrows rose further up her tan forehead. "You said so just now. You said I was always so rude. Again, I'm sorry to offend you, my lady, but I—"

"No," Sansa argued, shaking her head. "I didn't say that." Instead of thinking anything more about it, she took another bite of scone. "These are delicious today, Shae."

Shae pressed her warm hand to Sansa's head. "My lady, are you quite alright? You seem changed. You know, you can still talk to me openly, even when you marry the king. You know, I told the other girls I must come back to you. I know what is happening and I'm the only one you can speak to truthfully."

"The truth is, I love Joffrey," Sansa said at once. "And I believe that's all there is to say on the subject. After all, you only have Lord Tyrion's word about the battle. Do you believe him?"

Shae's dark eyebrows furrowed further. "Of course I do." She lowered her voice again. "Do you believe King Joffrey?"

"Is that treasonous speech?" Sansa asked sharply, and turned around to face her handmaiden with an indignant look in her eye. It was almost as if she could not plan which words were flowing out from her throat. All she could do was remember her Joffrey, at long last adroitly flicking her privates and then driving himself into her, his kisses passionate and deep.

"_No_," Shae whispered, and she looked serious. "It is a very real question for you, sweet Sansa. You were on the verge of going along with the king. I do not blame you. I helped you. You _had _to. Then, yesterday, you came back when you thought Stannis would conquer. Now, what? You blindly follow King Joffrey again? What are you doing to yourself? You can marry him and keep yourself."

As much as Sansa wanted to hear Shae's tone as loving and not judgmental, her eyes flashed. "What am I doing?" she sputtered out. "I'm _being Joffrey's queen!" _she spat. "And besides, what you hear from Tyrion does not count unless you were actually there!" She did not mention Joff's unsoiled armor, nor did she speak of his clean sword. She did not mention his slim shoulders that shook when she held him close. "Joffrey won. He won. And I can't believe anything else, don't you see?"

When Shae brought a hand to Sansa's hair, Sansa wrenched away. But still, Shae's voice was calm as she spoke. "You may be doing the best for yourself that you can. I will be silent about it, for that is my place. Though I hope, with all my heart, that the king will treat you better when you sit beside him at court as his queen."

"Shae, please believe me," Sansa said, turning back to the tray of food, her heart feeling lighter. "Please. Gods be good, Joffrey has been showing his trueness of late. I will not give so many details but it's begun…" She struggled, reddened and smiled with the thoughts she was struggling with. _Shae will not judge. She has said she was a whore. She has experience. Shae _cannot _judge. _"It has begun to feel good. To feel right." Her eyes flicked up, searching in Shae's reflection to see a sign of understanding. _Please don't make me explain. Please accept my future, as I must. _

"You must do what you can. But please, Lady Sansa, keep your head," Shae said, placing her hands on Sansa's shoulders gently.

"I have my head," Sansa said firmly. "My father lost his because he questioned the king. Don't you see? Before, I blamed Joffrey. I can't think like that anymore. It has not helped me. Being good to Joffrey _has _helped me. You see that, don't you?"

"Yes," Shae said, and she bowed her head, her voice so quiet Sansa could barely hear her. "Yes, I see it very clearly."

Shae said hardly anything at all as she prepared Sansa's bath and got her ready for the day. She did not even question the bite marks on Sansa's neck and shoulders, though Sansa saw her eyes fall upon them. The silence was actually welcome. Silence meant Sansa need not justify anything. Silence was easy.

..  
JOFFREY  
..

"Ah! All together at last," said Uncle Imp in a derisive sort of voice, and he raised his golden cup of Dornish wine as high as he could manage.

No one else followed his move to make a toast. Mother stared at her silver bowl of cream and chicken soup, Grandfather Tywin worked at cutting off a piece of roast duck, and Tommen played with his peas. Only Joffrey made eye contact, sneering at his uncle's hideous injuries from the battle.

Apparently, something had gone on after Joffrey's departure that had resulted in Tyrion's face being horrible scarred. _And I thought he could not get anymore ugly. I was wrong. Look how chopped up he is! It's like someone took a great knife and sliced him up like a little sheep for slaughter. I can't bear to look at him. He's vile. Absolutely vile. Though, he gives me something else to think about besides Sansa. I feel very odd about the decisions made this morn._

_King Joffrey and his queen… Margaery? It does not roll off my tongue so nicely. _

Joffrey grasped his own cup, draining the sweet red wine in seconds. He snapped his fingers and the blonde handmaiden hurried over to refill it.

"Yes, yes, you have the right idea, your Grace!" Uncle Tyrion said with a smile and a nod. "Come. Father, sister. Let us drink to the victory of my illustrious nephew, his Grace, the brilliant and skilled King Joffrey." Instead of waiting, he drank deeply from his cup and set it down with a _thud. _ Joffrey did not appreciate the tone of voice he used. He was about to say so, when Grandfather spoke.

Tywin winced. "Must you talk so much? I have only been in your presence for mere hours and I grow weary of your voice—"

"Father, you simply can't imagine how it has been without you. Thank the Gods for your return," Mother said. "Every day, I prayed you—"

"Yes, yes, all back to normal now, isn't it?" Tyrion cut in with a little laugh. "Father, you have your pet Cersei, and now you can become acquainted with your king, and all is right with the world. On that note! You have not said much about our king. Didn't you think his performance during the battle was simply invigorating? This one definitely takes after his father. You should be proud of that, Cersei." Tyrion clicked his tongue and there was a short, albeit thick silence. "He has all of Robert's bravado on the battlefield. I know, because I saw it myself."

"I did not see his Grace when I arrived into battle," Tywin said, and for a second Joffrey was almost worried. Tyrion was worth nothing to him, and Tyrion's word was worth even less. But Grandfather was still someone Joffrey very much wished to appease, despite his rudeness earlier today. "I was much too occupied _winning _the battle to worry about where King Joffrey was; perhaps you should learn something from that?"

Joffrey and Cersei mirrored each other with long, thin grins of satisfaction.

"Father, I planned that battle for _months,_" Tyrion said, and he was suddenly gritting his teeth. "If I had not taken the chance with Wildfire, there would be no kingdom, and the men fought bravely, and—"

"So what is the issue, my son? Let us all toast to the victory that was had last eve, and leave it at that," Tywin said with a tight-lipped smile and he raised his goblet high. Joffrey, Cersei, and Tommen followed his lead. Tyrion merely snickered joyously into his goblet. "Drunk already?" questioned Tywin in a chilly voice. Tyrion gave a small shrug and drank again from his cup.

Joffrey smirked, twisting a curl of his hair around his ringed finger as he settled his half-empty cup to the table. "He's always drunk, Grandfather. I'd like to send him off. I can scarcely look at him. He was ugly before but look at his face now!" He gave a high giggle. Tywin smiled tightly again.

"Forgive me, your Grace!" Tyrion said solemnly. "Some of us do not fight as primly as you. I suppose though, if I had a face like yours, I would have done the same. Alas, I am hideous." He ruffled Tommen's hair, and Tommen giggled in a nervous way. "Though I was hideous before, so I care not! My father is right! I do not need to task myself with battles or meetings now! Bring the wine in buckets!"

Joffrey glowered and drunk from his cup.

Tywin looked sharply at the handmaiden. "_Do not." _ He turned to look sharply at Tyrion. Joffrey was interested in this relationship; it was splendid to watch the Imp get bested at every turn. "You may not be the Hand of the king, but you _are _the Master of Coin now. You will need to have your head on straight and your merriment shall be done in private where I do not have to see you make a damned fool of yourself."

"My merriment," chirped Tyrion, swirling the wine in his cup. "My merriment indeed."

Three cups of wine later, and Joffrey could think of nothing _but _Sansa. Prior to supper, he'd wondered whether or not he liked the idea of giving her up despite Margaery's poise and beauty. He still cared deeply for Sansa, which troubled him greatly. He wasn't supposed to love her. He was not supposed to love _anyone _and so he'd vowed he'd punish her for her idiotic behavior in the Red Keep and leave it there. But now, as his family chattered and bickered around the long table, Joffrey was musing about his marital situation. Just as wine had helped him before the battle, it was assisting him now.

"Uncle!" he called out suddenly, and Tywin and Tyrion stopped their debate to look at him. "Did you hear? I've a new betrothed. I decided to toss Sansa away, isn't that funny?" He was smiling widely and his face felt warm.

Tyrion squinted and looked to Tywin, and then Cersei. "What is he speaking about? Throw her away?"

"But I _like _Sansa," Tommen pouted. "Please don't throw her away, Joffy!"

"Stop calling him Joffy," hissed Cersei. "You are much too old for that now!"

Joffrey snorted. "I can do what I like with her, you'll see."

Tommen's eyes widened and he closed his mouth.

"Is this the truth? Who is he marrying?" Tyrion questioned, actually looking a bit interested in something Joffrey had to say, for once. When no one answered, he sighed and looked to Joffrey. "Your Grace, could you please share this merry news with your horrible dwarf of an uncle?"

Excited to be in the center of attention, Joffrey crossed his arms and laughed. "Wait until you cast your eyes upon her, Uncle. Lady Margaery Tyrell—"

"Renly Baratheon's widow?" asked Tyrion, dumbfounded.

"She _was _his widow and now she is _my _betrothed," Joffrey snapped impatiently, uncrossing his arms and instead drumming his hands on the table. "Anyway. She's a sight to see. Dark curls of hair and the sweetest of faces."

Tyrion looked to his father. "The Tyrells came to our aid last eve. And so is this their payment?"

"Indeed, it was," Joffrey answered, drinking more wine and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "I would have given them anything, but Ser Loras asked for me to wed his dear sister and I agreed at once. She is a real lady, a picture of elegance!"

"Well," clucked Tyrion, throwing a glance at his father. "It is lucky she was pretty, then. Of course, Sansa is also very pretty."

"_Tyrion," _Tywin began, but Joffrey went on talking.

"She matches Sansa's beauty but in a different way. Sansa, of course, is very good to look at, and that is why I shall keep her," chattered Joffrey.

"When will Sansa be told of this new development?" Tyrion questioned.

Joffrey sniggered into his cup. "Oh, she'll see it for herself when Lady Margaery and I confess our affection to each other at the decree tomorrow. I hope she cries. Don't you think she'll cry, Mother? She so wanted to be my queen, you know—"

"I am sure she will cry, Joff," Mother replied. "Sansa may be a traitorous little girl, but she is very dutiful. And sensitive. My, how that girl is _sensitive."_

"Yes, sensitive is a good word for it," commented Tyrion in a light voice. "Traumatized is another."

"When Father announced our betrothal, Sansa was so happy, she could not stop blushing," Joffrey continued, eyes flashing, his smile widening. "Remember, Mother? She fancied me the first second she saw me, when I rode in on my horse she smiled like her lips would fall off. And when we walked to the Hall, she clutched onto me and she was shaking." He drew a breath. "And when I called her beautiful, she looked like she would _wilt._" He forced a laugh and took another drink. "I hate her," he declared. "I hate her so! I'm glad to be rid of her! Margaery is so splendid!"

"Joffrey," said Mother, touching his arm. "Should you perhaps retire?"

"Not me," Joffrey said at once. "I'm enjoying this day! I'm only thinking about how glad I am to be rid of Sansa."

"And what will happen to the poor girl next?" Tyrion asked, a bit loudly. "What new horrors should she have to endure?"

Grandfather Tywin raised one silver eyebrow. "Suddenly you have deep worries for this Stark? Please, Tyrion. Who are you attempting to impress? The girl will stay with us, as the king has decided, and she will be useful to us in other ways. We can marry her suitably, and benefit all the same."

_Marry Sansa off? I suppose I should have seen _that _coming. I don't want her out of the castle. If she marries anyone, it will be right here, and I'll see her whenever I wish! _

"Yes!" Joffrey shouted, and he suddenly felt jittery, like he could not be still for another instant. "Yes, I can marry her off to anyone I please and enjoy the look on her face when she realizes she cannot be with me! This will be _fun!" _ His voice came out in a panicked sort of yelp.

"I think it is I who needs to retire," Grandfather said gravely, "for I have not the energy that the king does this eve. I am happy to see he is fully rested."

Tyrion had his head in his hands and was slowly shaking it from side to side, but Joffrey took no care in what he was doing. His only focus was Sansa, and how excited he was to see her sadness when she learnt her true fate, how satisfying it would be to keep her in King's Landing for the sake of punishment.

_And speaking of punishment, _Joffrey thought, pretending to be gleeful, _I must go to her tonight and find out if what my mother says is true. But first, I think, I should have another cup or two of wine. _

* * *

_A/N: _I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Sansa's playing the game in the only way she can and Joffrey is getting a bit, well, mad with desire- despite his resistance. Thanks for your support, reviews, etc.


	27. And Nothing is Easy, Not Here

Chapter 27- _And Nothing is Easy, Not Here_

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..  
SANSA  
..

"Sansa! SANSA!"

Sansa looked up from her sewing as her bedroom door burst open. She'd just finished her supper, a delicious creamy chicken soup with warm bread alongside, and she was just beginning to work on a new project. She thought perhaps she should sew herself something black and crimson, something that showed the colors of both her future husband's houses. Sansa fancied she could easily make a scarf for her hair for to wrap it up in one of the styles of the South. She had just been wondering if Joff would like it, and now, he was here.

But her elation faded when she saw that he was glowering hard at her from the doorway with Ser Meryn and Ser Boros on either side of him. With dread filling her stomach, Sansa wondered what was wrong with the king. The last time she'd seen him he'd been lying spent and sweaty in her arms with a satisfied smile on his handsome face. Now, he looked furious. His light hair was unkempt and his face was pink. As she smiled at him nervously and set down her needles, he strode forward with a dour look on his face.

"Sansa!" he shouted again. "You will stand!"

"Your grace, what can I do for you?" Sansa asked, making certain her voice was careful and sweet as she scrambled to greet him with a curtsy. Despite the dangerous look on her king's face, Sansa knew she had to be brave and sound sincere.

"My mother has told me of your treason," Joffrey spat. "You did not have faith in me at all, did you? Meryn, Boros, grab her by her arms and hold her in place."

Sansa's eyes widened. More than scared, she was confused. _What on earth is he speaking of? What would Cersei say that makes him think I have no faith in him? _Before she could say a word, the knights overtook her. Meryn grabbed her right shoulder with a firm hand and Boros clutched her left arm. It seemed excessive, but of course Sansa would never say so aloud. She did not struggle. She merely watched as Joffrey drew nearer to her, his large eyes flashing.

"My king, I have no idea what you mean. Please, please, tell me, so I can set it right!" Sansa pleaded in a soft voice. She prayed Joffrey would remember how kind he'd been the past night and how they'd enjoyed each other's company. At least, she _thought _he'd enjoyed her company.

"You won't set this right! No! Not this time!" the king exclaimed and he stopped several paces from her, staring her down as a wildcat does its prey. "Did you, or did you not, pray for Stannis to win the Battle of Blackwater Bay? Did you run from the Red Keep to try to bargain with my enemy?"

Stunned, Sansa searched for an answer. _Cersei had no idea I was praying for that! And she can't have seen my departure for she was already gone! She left all the women to die at the hands of Illyn Payne! What trickery is this? Is this a trap or has the queen really been talking so? _

"My king," she said, still faltering to find the correct phrasing, "I did no such thing! A message boy came to the Red Keep and told us that Lord Stannis was winning! I was so distraught, your grace. Your mother took your brother and she fled, and I knew I had no hope. If I stayed, I'd die. I knew I'd be safe in my room." Sansa paused, and she was suddenly inspired. "And I was! You came to me!" she exclaimed, putting a gay smile on her face. _Be calm. You have to be calm. You must bring back the sweet boy, the boy who you've seen glimpses of. Bring back that side of Joffrey!_

"Are you calling my mother a liar?" Joffrey snarled.

"No- Joff! No!" Sansa shouted, shaking her head side to side. "I'd never do such a thing!" _If she says I left before she did, she is a liar, though. A lying coward who left innocent ladies of court to fend for themselves. What kind of queen does this? When I marry Joff, I'll never do such a thing. _

"Meryn! Strike her about the ear until she speaks the truth. Boros, hold her. "

Sansa gasped. "Why?" she squeaked. "What did I do to you?"

"Shut up," Joffrey snapped, his voice laced with poison.

"Yes, your grace," Ser Meryn nodded, and he raised his hand, smacking her so hard her eardrum rang. Joffrey's eyes were fixed on the scene, and he shifted his weight, staring in interest. She'd seen that look, she realized with a slight pain in her middle. She'd seen him gaze upon her like that when he sat astride her in bed (_his eyes cat-like emerald orbs and his mouth open to swallow her whole_). Meryn was about to strike again when Sansa spoke up.

"WAIT!" she cried out, cowering, and Meryn looked to Joffrey.

"Let her speak," Joffrey said with a roll of his eyes. He looked bored.

"Your grace! I swear! I'm telling the truth! I would not doubt you, not for a second! I know not of what your mother meant, please, please, if you'd let me talk to her we could work it out! Please! "

"My mother says you ran from the Red Keep! My mother says you would have done anything to get back to the north! You were set to join Stannis! You have been plotting against me! You'd have seen me fail! Have you been lying all along?" Joffrey shouted, his voice loud. But there was a tremble in it, too, and Sansa knew she needed to work hard this time to win Joffrey back. _But how? What would he believe? What would please him?_

_Can Cersei read minds? I would not be surprised, with my luck. Still, it makes absolutely no sense. The timing is not right. She did not hear me. She did not see me leave! _Sansa's hand moved to her ear and she bit back tears. _I deserved this punishment, _she realized. _I _did _lie to Joffrey this time. I _was _hopeful to go home. I was unfaithful to him and look what it's done for me! I must not stray. I must give Joffrey what he wants. Exactly what he wants. I should be ashamed for acting so bad._

She tried to make eye contact with him but he just looked away. "Joffrey, please- listen! You are my king, my wonderful king! Why would you doubt my words? You know I care for you! I can't tell you how much I care! Why don't you believe me?"

"It's all done now," Joffrey responded and she noticed again how his voice shook. He stomped up to her and scowled. "How _could _you? You ruined us!"

Sansa's eyes watered and she took a deep breath and tried to keep composure but the smell of wine on him was overpowering, like it had been the night some days ago when he'd stolen into her chambers. Her words came out as a cough: "My king, I don't know what you're speaking of! Please help me understand! All I want is for you to be happy, you _know _that!" _By the Seven, my Joffrey, how much have you had to drink?! _Boros' tightened his hold on her shoulder. _  
_

Joffrey snorted, running a hand through his hair and blinking rapidly like he was trying hard to decipher her. "Your words do nothing for me now. It's too late. And it is all your fault," he said acidly, the red crust of wine around his lips looking like dried blood.

"Joff-"

"Don't. CALL. ME. THAT!" Joffrey hollered, and Sansa swallowed hard. "Meryn! Boros!"

She bristled, waiting for the next order.

"Drop her," Joffrey said, half-grinning now. "And wait for me outside the room. I'd like to speak to the Stark girl myself."

_The Stark girl? _Sansa thought. _What have I done to deserve this? _Moments ago, the absence of the kingsguard would have been welcome but now she was nervous to see them depart. They jostled her as they pressed on, slamming the door behind them.

The boy-king swaggered toward her, his footwork crooked. "And here I thought you really enjoyed getting fucked by me this day past! You moaned like you enjoyed it. You dirty Northern whore." He grinned at her.

"Your grace, what if they should hear us?" Sansa found herself saying and there was a scary spark in Joffrey's eyes. _Stupid, stupid. _

"So what?" challenged Joffrey coldly, and they were nose-to-nose now. Sansa could scarcely breathe. "Oh!" He gave a forced laugh, cruel and high. It echoed off the rafters of the high ceiling. "Do you want to be fucked by my men, too? Shall I call them back?"

"No!" Sansa shouted. "Please, don't! I only want you! I've told you a million times!"

"Would you have let Stannis fuck you, if he'd appeared in your room in my stead? If I were dead, would you be attempting to persuade Stannis to share the throne with you? Would you have been his queen?" Joffrey screamed, and he balled his fist as if he might strike her in the jaw.

Sansa's mouth dropped open. _"Joffrey!" _she burst out. "What is this? Of course not! Stannis is an old fool! You are my king! You and only you!" _Make him happy. _

Then something odd happened. Joffrey's lip trembled and he lowered his fist shakily, his voice wobbling. "You've ruined everything I ever wanted. You've sliced open my heart!"

"Wh-what?" Sansa sputtered, awestruck. Her shock allowed her to dismiss the smell of wine on his hot breath. "Your heart, what do you mean I've sliced open your heart? Your Grace, please, make me understand! I want to make it right!"

"You can't!" he snapped. "You can't make it well, not this time." He let out a small, anguished cry, looking like an innocent little boy.

In an instant, Sansa was not afraid, not one bit.

"Please, can I have permission to take your hands? Please, your grace!" she asked him, making certain not to raise her voice, nor to sound commanding. She put out her arms, slowly, and she waited. He could make the first move. Sansa had learned a few important things while in King's Landing and she was going to use everything she had to stay in one piece.

The king's angular features softened and he gave a shuddering sigh as if holding back tears. "I came here to punish you," he choked, "but I don't wish to, Sansa." He caught her hands in his, moved her palms to his cheeks and held her wrists solidly, staring into her eyes.

"Joffrey," Sansa whispered, gently touching his smooth skin. Her heartbeat was pounding fast and her chest panged. _What's happened to him? _she wondered. "What has you so upset?"

"Come tomorrow," Joff said, "you'll see exactly what your traitorous acts have cost you."

"What traitorous acts? What has the queen told you? Please- I want to fix this," Sansa said, and she brought her hands to Joffrey's hair, carefully smoothing his curls behind his ears.

He bit his lip. "It's all done-"

"Let me speak to the queen," Sansa said. "I want to talk to her! I'll fall before her and beg her to see my side. I'll beg her not to hurt you-"

"It's not up to her!" Joffrey said, wrenching away from her and turning away, his head bowed down. "It's all done, Sansa. You haven't a choice."

"I'm going to speak to Queen Cersei!" Sansa asserted firmly, wondering where this boldness was coming from. "Please, Your Grace, please escort me. I want to see you happy. I told you that." She placed a careful hand on the velvet of his collar.

"Lady Sansa," Joffrey began and he turned around to face her again. "I..." He trailed off, and then shrugged as if quarreling with himself.

"Yes, my king?"

"It is nothing," he said. "Come. I will escort you to see Mother. It won't do a thing, but you can try."

Sansa beamed as Joffrey took her arm and led her out of the room. Had she really won this round? Had it really been that easy?

A voice sang in the back of her mind and Sansa was not sure whose it was. Was it Nan's voice? Was it Mother's? Was it Septa Mordane's?

_Nothing is easy, you know that, my dear. Nothing is easy, Sansa._

_Not here, not here. _

Sansa put the voice out of her mind and clung to Joffrey tightly. Meryn and Boros wore matching expressions of confusion and she merely smiled and shrugged at them before settling her head against the king's shoulder.

**. . .**

Queen Cersei looked ravishing in a gown of gold-green silk, and her eyes were as round as the _O _of her mouth as King Joffrey walked Sansa straight into her chambers. Cersei had a silver cup in her hand, poised as if she were about to take a sip from it. Instead, she set it gingerly upon the dark wood table next to what appeared to be a pile of letters. She snapped her fingers at the maid waiting against the wall. "Leave us," she commanded before setting her flickering eyes upon Sansa and her son. The maid obeyed at once, looking glad to go. Part of Sansa wished she could run away with that maid, but she knew she had to stand her ground to avoid Joff's wrath. Cersei's tone was cool, though her smile glowed like her hair in the candlelight. "What brings you to me now, my sweet boy? And what have you towed Lady Sansa along with you for?" She said _Lady Sansa _with a tone like ice.

_What have I done? What!?_

Sansa looked to Joffrey, whose own eyes held green flickering flames identical to his mother's. "A king does not need to explain his actions," was Joffrey's matter-of-fact answer, though it lacked the usual snap. Inebriated Joffrey held a different sort of danger; he was bolder, louder, and lacked the petulance he had when sober. Still, his drunkenness unnerved Sansa greatly, though she held her head high and tried to ignore the strong smell of wine. "Sansa. You wanted to address my mother." He released her arm and instead gave her a bit of a shove forward.

She stumbled, then collected herself, as she gave a low curtsy. When she met the queen's eyes, Cersei averted her gaze. Reddening, Sansa worked to speak in an even, quiet tone. "My queen, please listen. I requested His Grace to take me here. I mean no rudeness, nor do I come to argue. But I'm confused. He says you told him I was a traitor, and while my father and brother very much are, I have done no evil here." A dull ache of guilt seized Sansa by the chest but she held her head high.

Cersei's eyes fell upon Joffrey. Then she faced Sansa. "I only counseled his grace shortly during his small council meeting. You _have _been traitorous, have you not? My son has told me. Threatening that Robb Stark will bring you Joff's head? These slights against my family will not stand, Sansa-"

"I was punished for that," Sansa said in a firm tone. "I misspoke. That was long ago." She bit her lip, and went on, not wanting to lose focus. "He says you told him you saw me leave when we were told Stannis would invade. But you know I did not leave the Red Keep before you, Queen Cersei." Her voice was shaking now. Cersei looked disturbed.

"Tell her," Joffrey urged, and he shook Sansa's shoulder. "Tell her you weren't against me! You weren't treasonous! Tell her what you told me!" His voice was wavering in all the wrong places, and Gods help him, he nearly fell as he attempted to sit next to his mother. When he finally settled upon the chaise alongside his mother's chair, he snickered at his own clumsiness. At once, he snatched the chalice and filled his mother's silver cup with more red wine. It slopped over the side and he set the chalice down with a _clang _before raising the cup to his lips and drinking it like water. Sansa watched in awe as his throat bobbed. He drained the large cup in mere seconds.

A hot flush appeared upon Cersei's face. "Joff," she whispered, "you are not well and you know not of what you speak. It is improper for you to be alone with Lady Stark and yet you walk her into my chambers like it is nothing-"

"Quiet, Mother," Joffrey crooned, smiling, all his troubles apparently forgotten. "Meryn and Boros trailed us. Don't _worry. _I'd _never __ever _consider seeing Sansa _alone_." Sansa's cheeks boiled yet Joffrey only simpered. He drew his feet up and lay back on the chaise casually, as if retiring in his own chambers. "Though I suppose now it does not matter. Does it, Mother? _Ugh,_" he said, and he lay his head down. "I...cannot...stand to sit."

_What does not matter? _Sansa thought wildly. _What is happening? _

Cersei looked just as worried as she was and she leaned over to the king and put a hand to his forehead. "I think you may be getting ill. Let me take you to your chambers and we can discuss this another time." She glanced up at Sansa, and her green stare was solemn.

"There's not enough time for that, Mother," Joffrey said, and then he stopped and winced. "My head! My _head!" _he cried. "It's spinning... I feel dizzy."

"Out!" shouted Cersei to Sansa. "Get out now!"

Sansa was not about to let this go. Not now. Not when she'd mustered up all that was inside of her not to turn around and run. She spoke quickly: "Your grace, _please. _He's only upset but I do not know why! I promised him I'd take care of it. I want to speak openly to you and make it right, I really do. Please tell me what I did wrong!"

Her eyes widened as Cersei dove from the the chair, clutching her skirts in her hands. The beautiful queen looked intent on harming her, and Sansa let out a cry as Cersei grasped her hard by her sleeve and pulled her violently into the next room.

"Where are you going?" called out Joffrey. "Where-I demand to know- where-_Oh... MOTHER!_"

"I'm speaking to Sansa, love. We'll be finished in a moment's time and then I will help you to bed!" called Cersei sweetly, and then she faced Sansa. Her hand still gripped the material of Sansa's gown. "_You stupid girl_," she hissed so quietly that Sansa had to lean in to hear her words, "_I did it for you_."

"I don't understand!" Sansa voiced. "If I did, I'd leave the matter alone. But I _didn't _lie! I wanted Joff to win! He's my king. You know I love him, and with all my heart, too!" _I fear him. I don't love him. But it's all the same. I must stay alive. _

"You promised him something you couldn't keep!" Cersei snapped in that same wrathful murmur. "And I protected you! What, have you gone mad? I've seen what he has done to you, and now I've protected you! More than that, I've protected my Joffrey! He's infatuated with you," she spat as if tasting putrid meat. "He drinks himself sick, and wakes up from night terrors, and spews all kinds of moronic emotional ideas about wedding you! That is not healthy for him! His moods are a frightening thing, this you know!"

Sansa did not nod, though she knew. Oh, how she knew.

"He loathes you too much, Sansa. He's beginning to fixate on you. I should have known. Your hair is your curse," Cersei said, a mournful lilt to her voice. "I put it out of my head because I thought you were such a pretty thing-"

"My hair?" Sansa asked, baffled. "What do you-"

But the queen went on, shaking her head as if she could not be troubled. "And so I was relieved when my father and the Tyrells decided that Joff would set you aside in favor of a new bride. In favor of a bride who will be my son's _queen. _Not his _obsession._ I helped you, Sansa. I deserve your gratitude, not your interrogation."

"Who!?" sputtered Sansa, utterly flustered. _What's she talking about? A new bride? Obsession? Until nights ago, Joffrey seemed to detest me. He only seems to favor me when I do whatever he says. He'll kill me if I cross him. _"Who? Who will marry Joff?"

"Don't pretend like it matters so much to you. All that matters is that Joffrey will not marry you, Sansa," Cersei whispered, and a bit of the anger dropped out of her eyes. Instead, she looked sad. "You won't be his queen. It is not something I think you could handle, especially now. His betrothed holds herself differently than you. She won't rock Joffrey's moods like you have. I can see it even now, she's older and she won't fill his head with silly promises, or stupid idealistic visions of love-"

"I won't marry Joffrey?" Sansa asked, trying to decide what to say, how to act and who to be. A whirlwind of emotion swept through Sansa like the winds of winter she barely could remember, sharp and howling and fluttering - much like Joffrey himself.

First: a breath, something akin to relief. _No more pretending. I am not Joffrey's Sansa-shaped doll, I am only Sansa Stark. _

Next: a pinprick of regret. She had failed, after all, hadn't she? She wasn't suited to be queen and her pretty dreams were really, honestly, dead. Dead as her father. _That nasty red pouring from his neck as his head rolled. Joffrey's fault. All Joffrey's fault. _(_' Yes, Sansa! Yes!' _shouted Arya, her voice joyous. _Stop, _Sansa warned, _not now, you must be quiet now. _But she hid a smile.)_  
_

Then: a shaking tremble through her thighs that ended deep in her gut and Sansa found herself grasping the hand that sat firmly upon her sleeve. _  
_

"What's to be done with me now?" she breathed, and there were tears in her eyes, twinkling tears of disbelief. "Are you going to kill me, after everything? After all I've been through here? Listen to Joffrey! _Please, _I'm begging-"

"Sh," Cersei said, and if Sansa had not learned a thing she might have thought she detected tenderness in the queen's purring tone. When the queen touched a soft finger to Sansa's mouth, Sansa tried not to cringe. "You will not be killed, little dove. You're much too valuable."

_Ah, _Sansa thought, and the fluctuating emotions continued. Joffrey thought _his _head was spinning? She could compete with him there; she knew she could win. "So I am not returning home?"

"We can discuss that later, Sansa," Cersei said, not unkindly. Sansa did not think that sounded very uplifting. Cersei released Sansa's sleeve and moved her mouth to Sansa's ear. "_All I ask," _the queen regent whispered urgently, _"is that you act disappointed. Cry if you can muster realistic tears. Look shattered. Joff will make his decree tomorrow at court." _There was a pause, and then the whisper turned into an order, a spit of a command: "By the Seven, you had better not embarrass my son or I will ruin your life as quickly as I can."

Mustering an expression she hoped portrayed deep sorrow (though she hardly thought she could muster much beyond deep confusion), Sansa set her jaw and widened her eyes a bit. _Joffrey is not going to be my husband and so I can stop pretending to be something I am not. I can stop all of this! I might leave yet! __I might be sent home to the North! Or...__I might be set into Westeros to fend for myself. But my future is not with Joffrey. _Sansa thought she should feel elation but surprisingly, she was still very conflicted. She knew she shouldn't be. She should be rejoicing.

There was something very wrong with her.

"I _will _be shattered," Sansa said, and she was impressed by the flawless delivery of her own lines.

Cersei gave her a slight smile, if it could be termed a smile. There was nothing cheerful in the slight upturn of her lips. "You would best keep away, sweet girl. Your knights, and your ladies. Your sewing and songs. You made a dangerous match for my Joff. The pair of you," she clucked. Sansa wanted to ask, yet knew she must hold her tongue. The queen regent threaded a slender hand through her curls. "There is only one woman Joffrey will ever trust and love. And that woman is me. Be glad you will not have to bear his burdens, Sansa." The queen's voice came out as a chilling whip of words. "_Fly away fast," _she said.

Sansa put her head down and she watched the queen regent's shadow swoop across the floor. She waited to depart until she heard Joffrey and Cersei's voices disappearing down the corridor. Apprehensive, flustered, and yes, sad, Sansa walked out with her head held high. She knew this was the best way to handle the news.

If she had to look upon King Joffrey right now, she might be tempted to cling to her foolish girlhood dreams.


	28. Darkness Found Him

A/N: Chapter contains Baby!Joffrey, aww. The plot thickens and I do promise it all comes together. This chapter was hard to write. I wrote most of it a very long time ago and it's been in my mind since before the story was written. This brings in the aspect of Joffrey's past.

Thanks as always for reading, and for reviews/favs/follows. You're all awesome. - HF

* * *

Chapter 28: _Darkness Found Him_

* * *

..

CERSEI

..

_Not my son, not my Joffrey, _thought Cersei as she helped her son into bed. This was not the way things were supposed to be. She'd always imagined Joff's reign differently. First off, she had supposed he would be older, and kinder, and that everything would fall right into place. She knew that he could not be completely cured of what had happened so long ago but for the sake of her child, she had prayed that happiness would find him.

Instead, it seemed only darkness had found Joff. Over and over again.

Cersei did not admit her faults easily; no, she always wished to be right, but she knew internally that there was something the matter with Joffrey. Cersei was many things but she was not a stupid woman. She saw things others assumed she had blocked out. She'd seen more than any of them. She'd seen the peahens with cracked necks, and Robert had come to her, fuming and snorting like a bull, when he'd found Joff trying to drown Tommen. She'd seen Robert slap Joffrey twice, and then pummel him so hard several of his baby teeth had fallen out. Though she'd acted as if the sight of the torn up cat did not bother her, she had been very disturbed. _More _than very disturbed. She'd realized she might not be able to save Joffrey after all.

Her wariness had grown as Myrcella and Tommen developed into silent, terrified children. She'd raised three children, two of whom were petrified to be alone, unable to be without Cersei or Robert. And the third child, her darling firstborn, was the very reason for the others' terror.

But what others did not realize was that Joffrey was only a boy, too. Tyrion relentlessly mocked Joffrey and the people of Westeros seemed to follow his vision of her poor son. Cersei wished she could tell them what she knew, wished she could make them feel sick and sorry for their ill words against Joffrey. But no one could ever know because the truth was not only completely grotesque. It would also ruin them, her and her Joffrey. There were already whispers about his birth. He did not need more trauma in his life. Why couldn't the Gods leave Joffrey be?

Joffrey had been vomiting into his chamber pot for nearly an hour, Cersei smoothing his hair and encouraging him. After several unintelligible muttered words, he was finally, _finally, _asleep. Cersei had feigned tranquility. She'd been kind to him as usual, forgiving in the ways others would never be.

Inside, she was afraid. Father was back and he would not turn a blind eye to what was happening in King's Landing. Certainly, he would not admit fault to the kingdom, but Cersei was expecting he would be speaking to her sternly soon. _As long as he does not speak so to Joff. I cannot imagine being in the middle of _that _conversation. Jaime, where are you? You have taken too long! You left me, you left me when I was most desiring of your help! _

As she watched Joffrey dream, Cersei's concern grew and she tried hard to put her twin from her mind. He wasn't worth her thoughts. Not now. There were greater worries growing inside her. It was clear from the very risky way Joff had lugged Sansa Stark into Cersei's sitting room and Cersei may not be able to protect her son. _Or the Stark girl, for that matter. I liked her, I still do. Such a pretty thing. She would not be able to handle Joffrey but I do like her so much more than that Highgarden weed. They think I did not hear their whispers to wed Margaery to Robert, when he was alive? To cast me aside in favor of a stupid little trollop? And now they thrust her at my sweet son? It is certain that I will be exerting as much power as I can, now, _while _I still can. Margaery will not steal my boy from me. _

_And for the sake of the little dove, I hope Father will turn a blind eye. I had my fears, but now it is obvious that she and Joff have been seeing too much of each other. _ Cersei pursed her lips and her face reddened at the thought. _Not my Joffrey. I cannot think about it. _It was still difficult for her to imagine Joffrey being with a woman.

After all these years, Cersei still wanted to stand between Joffrey and any girl who set her sights upon him. Sansa was different, though it still made Cersei worry. Cersei had not been a maid with Robert though she had faked it well. _Not that it mattered, the drunk. He wouldn't have noticed if I were covered in scales that night. Let us hope Sansa can figure this out on her own, though I suppose that is a laughable thought. Silly girl. She should thank fate, though. She will surely see a nicer future._

Cersei hated to even think it: Joffrey was not going to be a good husband. Not to Sansa, when they were betrothed, nor to his new promised bride, Margaery. She _did _agree that Margaery would be less likely to face Joffrey's wrath (at least until later) and for that, she had gone along with the decision without much fuss. Sansa wouldn't be able to go far, but Cersei was going to protect her from her son as best as she could. _It is not his fault. _

As perfect as her son looked while he slumbered, Cersei knew him better than anyone else in the wide world. She had tried to make him forget, yet he had said only weeks ago that the nightmares still came. A sick feeling filled her stomach. She would not be leaving Joffrey tonight. He needed her by his side. He needed his mother, as he always had. Cersei took a seat upon the chaise and tried not to remember. But try as she might, the memories came.

* * *

**_Eleven Years Ago_**

* * *

_I wish moments like this could last for a lifetime, _Cersei thought to herself as she watched Joff frolicking around the parlor. A warm breeze rushed in from the open windows, ruffling the long curtains and Joffrey's blond hair as he rushed about. Robert was still on his hunt, making this the third week of his absence. No doubt he'd found some distractions along the way. But that did not matter. Jaime and their younger brother Tyrion sat on either side of Cersei on the large chaise lounge, and she was finally able to enjoy the summer evening. It was perfect. _Of course, omitting Tyrion. I suppose nothing is quite perfect, _Cersei mused, but tried to hold onto the good as hard as she could. Her youngest sibling was visiting from Casterly Rock, and though Jaime had urged Cersei to find it within herself to be cordial, she was already growing irritated with Tyrion's constant sarcastic remarks. Despite his awful deformities, Tyrion always seemed to think he was better than Cersei, as if his ugliness somehow made him a more fascinating person.

Even _with _her younger brother visiting, Cersei was finding it to be very peaceful away from Robert. Though it was still very dangerous to spend too much time in the company of her twin, having the king gone made it easier to pretend that she and Jaime were each other's. _Really each other's_.

Not to mention, Joffrey's strange behavior had lessened in the past couple of days. She was spending more time with him and surveying his actions, finding none to be too out of the ordinary. He was still quick to anger, still striking out at Myrcella and demanding attention, but that seemed normal. She even slept in the prince's chambers instead of her own, and when Joffrey awoke in the night, she would smooth his hair and coo him to sleep. Cersei liked to think her attention was affecting Joff positively, whereas Robert's mere presence had been driving the boy to the oddness. Whatever the reason, everything was falling back into place.

She wished Robert would never return from his hunt. _But then, _she thought dryly, _who knows what sort of horrible husband I'd get married off to next? Someone older, wider, and drunker. _

Jaime poured each of them another cup of wine, and nudged Tyrion's shoulder. "You come to visit King's Landing and yet you cannot remove your nose from a book for five minutes. I had to drag you by your toes out of the damned library," he said playfully. "Do we bore you so much?"

"Bore? Bore? No one in _this _family is a bore!" Tyrion returned with a wry grin, but did set his book aside. _In favor of his goblet_. "I'm merely making the best use of my time away from Father. A break from my esteemed position. My, I hope the drains do not flood while I am away. Imagine the alarm! Father would never let me off my lead again—"

Joff halted in his play, rushing toward the chaise. "A lead? You have a lead? Only the dogs wear leads and you aren't a dog, Uncle Tyrion!" he exclaimed, hands on his hips.

"You are fortunate. You clearly have not spent much time with your grandfather, Joff," Tyrion returned with a merry laugh. "To him, I believe I am less than a dog!" Cersei rolled her eyes as Tyrion gave a bark, and then a desolate howl.

Joffrey shrieked with laughter. "But you aren't a dog! You aren't! You're only making dog _noises._ I know you are really a person, though!_" _ With that declaration, he rushed away again.

"That is a higher opinion than most people hold of me," Tyrion chortled, setting his goblet down. Jaime gave a short chuckle.

"You should not speak against Father so, especially in front of Joffrey," Cersei whispered hotly, fixing Tyrion with a glare. "He repeats absolutely everything—"

"I said nothing out of the ordinary. If Joff asks Father whether I am a dog, Father will simply say 'yes' and that will be that!" joked Tyrion.

Cersei clicked her tongue. "That's not what I mean, and you know it!"

"_Cersei," _Jaime said quietly, and she was about to tell him off for correcting her, but then one of the nursemaids, Molly, came in with Myrcella swaddled in her arms. Molly was Cersei's favorite of the children's maids. She was young and pretty, with long, black hair and bright eyes. Cersei could tell she actually loved the prince and princess, that she did not regard her job with chagrin, as did some of the other nursemaids. Of course they'd never _say _so, but Cersei could feel it when she looked at them. Yes, the children could be a handful at times, but Cersei believed any woman should feel privileged to call herself nurse for the two beautiful royal children. Molly loved the children with all her heart, especially Joff, and she took pleasure in playing games with him even when he was not in her care.

"As you requested, my queen," Molly said. "The princess has been sleeping for a bit. She only just woke up but I can surely put her back down as soon as you asked me to…" She trailed off and stepped toward the chaise. "Isn't she beautiful, Lord Tyrion?" she asked, bending forward. Myrcella's bright green eyes were large and wide, and she yawned and babbled.

Tyrion smiled. "Very," he said in admiration. Despite herself, Cersei smiled. "And she is how old now?"

"She is nearly two years of age," Cersei said proudly. "Her Name Day is in a mere four months—"

Joffrey appeared again and hung off Molly's skirts. "Play with me!" he demanded. "No one will, they're only talking and I'm tired of it. I'm playing Hunting. I got two stags and now I must hunt the dragon—"

"Dragons frighten me," Molly said, a twinge of a smile on her face as she patted Joffrey's curls. "Will you protect me?"

"Of course," he said. "But you have to put Myrcella back. She can't be here because the dragon wishes to eat her—"

"Time really does go by quickly, doesn't it," Tyrion commented. "The last time I saw her, she was the size of a pea. She will be taller than me soon! This one already is!" He indicated Joff and Cersei bristled. _Thank the gods for that, _she thought. _No child of mine will be born a laughingstock. My children are as beautiful as myself and Jaime. They are perfect. _

"Won't you ever grow?" demanded Joffrey. Cersei and Jaime laughed quietly.

"You have asked me this many times before, and the answer is still no, sadly," Tyrion responded with a laugh. "No, I was born very small and I will stay the same until the end of my days."

_Gods be good, let your end of days be soon, _Cersei thought to herself with a roll of her eyes.

Joffrey cocked his head to the side, still tugging Molly's dress. "How ever did you get so small?" he wanted to know.

"Well," Tyrion began, leaning forward. Cersei braced herself for absurdity. "When I was very young, your mother became angry with me. She folded me up very, very carefully and stuck me in a tiny chest the size of a shoe. I stayed in that chest for many years and when she finally let me out, I could not get any bigger!"

"_Tyrion!" _Cersei declared.

"Mother, you put Uncle Tyrion in a _chest_?" hooted Joffrey.

"No," Cersei replied at once, just as Tyrion and Jaime said _"Yes" _in unison and laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world. "Stop!" she exclaimed and fixed Jaime with a dangerous expression.

"I told you to put baby Myrcella away! I don't want her here!" Joffrey commanded Molly in a whine. "And play with me! Now!"

"But your mother and uncles wished to see Myrcella—"

"I don't care—"

"I can play with you, though, if the queen needs me here," said Molly brightly. "Can I, your grace? I can take them to bed after-"

Cersei smiled and nodded to Molly. "Of course—"

"I'm never going to bed," asserted Joffrey. "Ever again."

"Wishful thinking indeed," Tyrion said.

"Lord Tyrion, do you wish to hold her?" asked Molly cheerfully, holding out the babe in her arms.

"No," Cersei said at once, grabbing for the baby. "Give her to me." Molly complied and Cersei brought Myrcella close to her chest, cradling her to her chest.

"I don't bite, you know," Tyrion said glumly before going back to his book.

Joff ran back around by the table, Molly at his heels. "Watch me!" he said noisily.

"I'm always watching you, love," Cersei cooed, kissing Myrcella's temple. She turned back to Jaime. "We really should visit Casterly Rock as soon as we can. It would be wonderful to see Father, to be back at home."

"Would the invitation be extended to King Robert?" Tyrion asked from behind his novel, and he turned the page with a loud _flick_.

Cersei gritted her teeth. She looked up from Myrcella to check the whereabouts of Molly. Thankfully the girl was busy chasing Joff behind the statues at the far corner of the vast room. "Why wouldn't it? I have absolutely no idea what you are implying. It is not as if Robert would take any interest—"

"I find your defensiveness interesting, Cersei. As usual," commented Tyrion off-handedly, and flicked his page over once again.

Cersei took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing into slits. _He really can't have finished that quickly. Likely he simply skims the pages and knows not what he reads. _She fumed as Jaime and Tyrion carried on as if she wasn't even there. She knew Jaime could not tolerate she and Tyrion's bickering but she ached for Jaime to hate their brother like she did. It was one of their only points of contention, and Cersei wished she had Jaime on her side. _At least Father understands that Tyrion is a willful, hideous little goblin. And Joff will soon understand, too. I will make _certain_ he understands. _

She was actually glad when Molly announced she would take Joffrey to bed, and she willingly went along with the nursemaid. Myrcella slept soundly in her arms. Cersei put Myrcella in her nursery first, covering her in a velvet blanket before going to Joffrey's room where Molly was getting him ready for bed.

Cersei waited in the doorway as Molly dressed Joffrey in his nightclothes, and she smiled when he wrapped his nursemaid in a hug. _He's so wonderful, _she thought. In truth, Joffrey was the only child Cersei had really wanted: one beautiful little prince. It was not that Cersei didn't love Myrcella, but she felt Joffrey was a part of her, that they were connected by a forceful bind that would never break.

"Kiss, kiss," said Molly playfully, kissing both of Joff's porcelain cheeks as she lifted him to bed and began to tuck him in. "Goodnight, now, Prince Joffrey—"

"Not yet," he said, and grasped her face in his hands. "Now I'll kiss you." He raised his face to hers and planted a kiss on her lips.

"Thank you, that's very sweet," Molly said, throwing an exuberant look at Cersei. "Now goodnight, love. You must get sleep. There are dragons to be fought early in the morn."

"Not yet," Joff protested, looking adorable as ever. "We aren't done."

Molly suppressed a laugh. "Oh and what is it we are not done with?" She and Cersei exchanged a smile; it was Joffrey's great ambition to skip bedtime, and he had the _most _inventive ideas to kill time.

Joffrey's voice came clear and articulate, as if reciting from a book. "It is time for you to kiss me on my cock because it feels good. Right?"

Molly let out a gasp and she slowly backed away. Cersei reacted much quicker. She flew into the room and grabbed the nursemaid by the collar of her dress, unseen, hot waves of wrath flowing out of her.

"What in the name of the Gods have you been doing with my son?" she shouted, feeling her stomach turning to rot as she clenched the girl's collar in her hands. "What have you been doing?"

Molly's voice was a panicked squeal. "Nothing, your grace! Nothing! I've never heard him utter that word in my life, I swear it! Of course I don't say that around him, I don't say it at all, none of us say it, none. He could have heard it from someone else—"

"Who? WHO? Are you saying I taught it to him?" Cersei burst out, feeling hysterical. "Are you saying I taught him that!?"

"No, my queen—no! No! Of course not—please—"

Cersei racked her brain, breathing hard, it was moving too fast. _Who would speak like that? Robert is a drunk, stupid fool, but he does not speak so around the children… Tyrion spends not enough time in front of Joff, and even _he _wouldn't be so stupid—even if one of them happened to utter the word 'cock', none of them would say what Joff just said, why would he say that? How would he know that? _

She tried to catch her breath, swallowing rapidly, and released Molly, who stumbled back and clutched the dresser. Cersei breathed in harder, trying to appear calm as she turned to face her son, folding her hands together. His eyes were wide as she addressed him, speaking slowly, her voice sweet like honeyed wine: "Joffrey, where did you learn to say something like that?"

"Am I in trouble?" he asked, drawing the blanket around his chin.

"No, no, love," Cersei said, drawing a breath and sitting on the edge of the bed.

Joff slid under the blanket so that only his eyes were visible. "Is Molly in trouble?"

Cersei smiled faintly, trying to hide the fury inside her. "No, love, I do not think so." Behind her, she heard the nursemaid breathe a short sigh—of what_, relief_? Cersei internally fumed. _She's thinking of herself at a time like this? I should have her killed for her selfishness! _ Cersei breathed in again and turned to cast Molly a long, hard look. "Leave now. I need to talk to my son alone," she hissed, and the nursemaid flew off, shutting the door behind her. No one was going to know about this. No one could ever hear about it, and if Molly spoke a word, her tongue would be served for supper.

When Cersei sat on the edge of the bed and slowly pulled down the coverlet, Joffrey stared at her with fear on his face. "Why did you shout?" he whined. "You were _angry—"_

"Not with you, love," Cersei responded tenderly, her hands quivering. She wanted to reach out to him but she felt as if there was a blockade between them, as if she would burn him. "Never with you. But…" She cleared her throat. _Where to start? What to say? _"Where did you hear something like that?" Cersei asked, smoothing the blankets with a careful hand. "Tell me, love. "

"_She _told me," Joffrey said matter-of-factly.

Burning inside, Cersei clenched her teeth. "Molly told you?" _I'll have her head and the rest of her can be thrown to the dogs for all I care—_

"No, not Molly. The girl who comes to see me," replied Joffrey, large green eyes flickering to the door and back to Cersei.

She finally brushed his curls aside, still fighting the urge to scream. "Girl?" she asked confusedly. "What girl is this? A nursemaid?" Her brain flew through a list, a flash of faces, trying to pick out which _girl _could have been saying such crude things to her Joff. _And perhaps more. No... Please. Gods, please. Not my son. How could this happen? I scarcely leave him—_

"No, she comes at night, Mother—"

"At night? When?"

"When I sleep," Joffrey replied, voice lowering. "But I can't say anymore because I'm not supposed to tell," he said, and Cersei told herself to stay calm.

She did not push for more details. She sang Joff a song until he fell asleep and then she was able to truly feel the anger take hold of her. _ I will find this girl, this woman, _Cersei vowed, _and I will punish her greatly for whatever she has done to my son. Let us hope she has only taught him foul phrases. I will uncover the truth and perhaps now Joffrey will return to normal. No more of these strange behaviors. And certainly no more strange words coming from him, the poor little lamb. _

_I will make certain he gets better, _she thought determinedly. She did not sleep at all that night, nor the next. She had to watch and she had to wait.


	29. Hands

**A/N:** I've been feeling kinda low lately, which has made it difficult to write. I wish my lows inspired creativity. But it seems I can only muster the energy to watch mindless television shows. That being said, I appreciate the patience of you followers, and hope you enjoy the update. Your reviews make me feel really great despite whatever internal doom and gloom I have at the time! A lot of you are asking me whether this will follow canon. Yes, and no. It definitely will take a different route, and Joffrey and Sansa's relationship will differ greatly from the show/books. After all, it is a Joffrey/Sansa ship fic so yes, they will be together (though it _will _be dark). This chapter is a bit uncomfortable and sad. I am not entirely certain if this is obvious (I'm trying my best to write Joffrey's psyche as realistically as possible) but Joffrey is beginning to remember his abuse in the form of nightmares and flashbacks. This was triggered first by his experience with Ros and Daisy (hinted at _very _subtly in chapter 3, and believe me.. Ros is important in this fic) and further by his experiences with Sansa. It is not uncommon for people to repress memories, only to have them reemerge much later due to something that reminds an abuse survivor of his/her past.

I'd advise you to read the warnings for this fic if you have not done so yet.

**Since some of you are guest reviewers, I wanted to take the time to reply to some of your kind words here.**

To "Anna": Thank you very much for your reviews and compliments. I've tried very hard to be true to the characters, which has meant doing a lot of research. I'm glad you think I'm doing them justice.

To "Guest" (Aug 9): You've pretty much hit some of my points spot-on, which is exciting for me as a writer. I agree. Too much Margaery/Sansa drama would indeed be petty, and I've been really careful about how this will play out. Keep reading!

To "Guest" (Aug 9, later): Thank you. I appreciate your words. I have done a lot of research (on characters, child abuse, and psychological disorders) so I'm happy it's paying off!

To "M.M": Thank you! Believe me, this story will play out differently than you might expect but I hope you still enjoy it. It is indeed a Joffrey/Sansa fic, though it is also bittersweet. They _do _begin to love each other though (that much I will reveal!).

To "Unknown": Was that you leaving me multiple awesome reviews? :D Thank you for your HUGE amount of support. You are great! I hope you continue to enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 29: hands

* * *

**_Eleven Years Ago_**

_.._

Prince Joffrey was four years of age. "_Nearly five!", _he always insisted when grown people asked him how old he was. He knew his Name Day was approaching soon and when his mother had asked what he would like the most, he had answered without missing a beat: He wanted his baby sister to live somewhere else (even the dungeon would do, if it meant he'd get Mother and Father and Molly to himself again), as well as a set of wooden jousting swords like the stable boys had. _And _anything to do with dragons! Molly had stitched him a dragon on his favorite cloak and he would wear it every day if he could but Mother said it wasn't always proper because their family was not a dragon family_. She_ said they were a family of _lions _and of _stags. _That mattered not to Joffrey, who had decided that dragons beat out old lions and silly stags any day. After all, why be a stag when Father _shot _stags with arrows and brought them home? And one day when Joffrey was older, he would do the same.

He couldn't wait to be older. He loved his mother very much but staying at home and knowing his father was out riding horses, hunting, and fighting for Westeros was the hardest thing in the world. Joffrey longed to be big. Everything was too difficult when you were small, and Mother was always saying he was not yet old enough for many things. Sometimes the stable boys would let him join their play (he'd insist because he was the prince he could play with them as he liked!), except then Mother would demand they not be "too hard" on Joffrey. Everything seemed _just _out of reach.

Joffrey was a child with very clear opinions and he was very sure of himself. He enjoyed being the center of attention, telling stories and making up games in front of his family and the servants. He liked playing pretend, especially when it involved hunting dragons. He liked listening to the tales Molly and his other nursemaids would tell him, and he was happy when baby Myrcella took naps because it meant he could have everyone to himself. He liked when Father paid him attention, especially those rare times when he'd toss him in the air and hold him tight. His black beard tickled and bristled against Joffrey's chin. He liked to play in the gardens where he could look for rabbit holes, or pet the castle cats, or chase dogs while Molly sewed. Life in King's Landing was generally sweet for the young prince.

Still, there were also things he absolutely hated. He hated when Father was missing for days on end, hated Mother's stony glances at the windows, and hated the thick quiet. He hated when the baby cried. He didn't like sharing or sitting still for very long, and he absolutely could not stand being told _No. _He also did not like bedtime because it meant he had to be shut away from the world. Uncle Tyrion had promised him that once he was in bed, the grown people would get much more boring and do stupid things, but Joffrey wasn't certain he believed that. On the contrary, he was certain he was missing the most fun ever.

And now that he'd moved into the big bedroom near his father's chambers, bedtime meant he sometimes had to play with the red-haired girl. And Joffrey was really not sure what to think about the red-haired girl.

He did not know her name, though she might have told him once. She had a good smile, like Molly, and she took his hand like she knew where they were supposed to go, as grown people often did. But Joffrey was not so sure about her. Not anymore.

He especially did not know what to think about her hands. Smaller than Mother's, with nails kept long and sharp. And they prodded and pinched. Searching, groping, always reaching for the private places, those places that Joffrey knew by now were supposed to be kept hidden away from others. At least, that was what the nurses and Mother said. Except... She was a big girl, not a little girl. And so she must have known what she was doing.

The red-haired girl only appeared at night, like a ghost. Mother said ghosts weren't real, and Uncle Tyrion said if there were any ghosts in King's Landing, then Joffrey's family would have scared the ghosts away long before now. (Joffrey didn't know what that had meant, though it seemed that Father and Uncle Jaime thought it was funny. Mother did not seem to think so.) But ghosts _weren't_ real, they just _weren't,_ and so Joffrey did not know why the red-haired girl only came at night.

The first time he met her, he'd woken up to find his sheets rumpled and wet. He'd been in trouble for this recently because he was "_too big of a boy for that now"._ That's what Father said, and even though Joffrey did not want him to be mad, he had to find someone to 'd wandered the corridor crying, and when he reached his father's chambers she was there. She had red curls of hair piled on her head, and she was draped across the bed with narrowed eyes, a kind of look on her face Joffrey did not recognize. She was stroking his father's chest in a way Joffrey had never seen Mother do.

Joffrey had tried to wake his father but he was too asleep, and so she'd come with him instead. She seemed younger than his nursemaids and his mother. Maybe somewhere around the ages of some of the pretty girls in court. When Joffrey asked what she was doing in his father's room, and where was his mother, she'd thrown her head back and laughed. Her eyes were wild and wide and they cut through the darkness. Her eyes scared Joffrey a little bit, but her smile made her look nice. He asked her who she was and she said that did not matter. All that mattered was she was here now.

That first time the door closed behind them and bathed them in the dark and cold, she was kind and gentle. _Handsome, aren't you, _she'd said, stroking his curls and changing him expertly. _Pretty, pretty, pretty. _She admired his room, the canopy bed with the dark wood and red velvet coverlet and the well-crafted rocking horse. She said she'd play with him, and Joffrey was eager. This was the latest he'd been permitted to stay up and whoever she was, he liked her very much. But her idea of playing was different. She only touched him, hands lingering and fingers curling. Hands hot on him before she changed his bottoms in the cool night air. Not good but not bad. Somewhere between. She kissed and cooed, her lips near his ear and on his cheeks and her hands searching for something. _This will feel good, you will like when I touch your cock, _she kept saying. _The king likes it. The king likes it. A king _and _a prince. _Joffrey lost focus, almost like he'd fallen asleep except not really.

A few nights later, the same thing occurred. He went looking for his father and she was there in his bed, eyes wide and gleaming. This time, Father was awake and the red-haired girl was helping him with something under the covers. When Joffrey asked him to help, the girl said she was more than happy to. She said she missed having her brothers around, and she _wanted_ to help. Father seemed glad about this, so she picked Joffrey up and then the two of them were back alone in the dark.

She kissed both his cheeks and when she helped him out of his clothes, she held him tightly. Not like his mother did. It gave him a warm, strange feeling. Not bad and not good. Then, she used her mouth on his cold skin. And soon it was warm and wet, and reality faded in and out. "_Where is my mother, who are you-"_

_All of these questions. _Edge of the bed, the sheets still wet. She stayed longer that time.

_You like it, don't you?_

_When I kiss you there?_

_You like it. _Joffrey really could not disagree, though he couldn't truthfully say he agreed, either.

The girl came back the next night and she said they could play again. _Miss me, did you? _He did not know why she reappeared. He did not need her help and he said so. _You like this, _she said. She was pretty but he was starting to dislike the way she looked at him. Even if he did like playing, if only a little bit. _I'm teaching you like they taught me. You'll be happy for it. You'll see._

Joffrey did not understand many of her words or why she was there, or why she kept him awake with her hands and her mouth and this time, when she let her hands fall into his smallclothes, he twisted away. She slapped him with the back of her hand then. _Be good,_ she'd hissed.

Joffrey's gaze had narrowed. He knew no one should be hitting him like that; his mother had told him that he was _the prince _and that everything he wanted would be his. _"You aren't supposed to do that!"_ he'd told her, brazen in the way that earned a stern look from Molly. The ghost girl did not care. Her hands flew. Her nails were sharp, and soon she was pinning him there. He was frightened then and he'd cried as he wet himself right then. That only made her angry and her brows furrowed, her face hard and thin in the dim light.

_"Prince Joffrey?" _called one of the nursemaids and she disappeared as quickly as she had come. When Willa, one of Joffrey's nursemaids, appeared in the darkness to see his sheets soaked she switched his bedding. When she went to change him, Joffrey screamed and screamed.

The red-haired girl was gone for a night, though Joffrey stayed up wondering when she would appear. He soaked his bedding and had strange dreams, bad, bad dreams.

In the morning, Molly helped him get dressed for the day. He wondered if she played the same way the red-haired girl played and he put his hand on himself. Molly seemed to dislike Joffrey doing that, however, and she'd quickly pulled his hand away. Annoyed at her grabbing his hand away, Joffrey smacked her as hard as he could. She seemed appalled at his behavior and she wanted him to sit in the corner, but Mother said that was much too harsh for a child his age. Lessons and playtime were the same as usual, except something was a tiny bit different. He couldn't articulate what it was. It made him feel uneasy and angry.

The girl did not appear for some time, and Joffrey wondered if she had vanished into the air. Even when she was gone, he found himself trying to go where she took him, his hands reaching and a dull sort of warmness setting in. Playing pretend was forgotten and instead Joffrey withdrew himself, hiding behind curtains and touching himself until one of the nursemaids would make him stop. His mother and father seemed truly aggravated that the bed-wetting had gotten worse. They talked angrily to each other, and Joffrey heard his name often in their livid conversations. When Molly began teaching him numbers with wooden sculptures of animals, Joffrey snapped them in half and threw them around the play room. He became prone to uncontrollable screaming fits and instead of discovering things on his own, he suddenly reverted back to demanding his mother do things for him.

Prince Joffrey was four, nearly five, and the world no longer seemed as exciting as it once had.

* * *

**_Present_**_  
_. . .

He woke with a start. His jaw was strained and his head was pounding hard as warm sweat sopped at the nape of his neck and the small of his back. He'd been dreaming about the hands again. He tried to catch hold of the imagery but like always, just as his eyes opened the visions slipped away quickly, slick like an intrusive and unwanted guest without a face.

Joffrey groaned, fully feeling the effects of too much wine setting in. Never had he thought he'd be able to relate to his uncle Tyrion like this, but he was instantly reminded of all the times the Imp had come to breakfast complaining of wine-induced headaches. He could imagine how upset Mother would if she heard this comparison.

Light streamed in through the windows, even leaking through the fabric of the canopy. Daytime again, he realized. _What day is it? I reckon all days are the same lately. Tedious. It is the nights that bring some sort of interest. It is the nights that bring me Sansa. _

The decree was happening today, he remembered suddenly and groaned again as he struggled to sit up without retching all over. He was officially setting Sansa free like the bird his Hound had declared she was, and he was going to be tied to that vivacious older girl instead. _The Tyrell. Margaery. _It was all coming back, slow like the honey Joffrey often dripped onto his porridge. _Porridge. Glops of lumpy grey like sheep's brains. _

"Gods," Joffrey garbled and was instantly sick all down the side of his bed. Footsteps pounded and then, Mother was there. She cooed and pressed a palm to his forehead. He wished to hiss at her, ask her what business she had in the king's chambers without his knowledge. But instead, his nostrils bristled and he was ill again.

She mopped him with a wet cloth and managed to get him to a chamber pot, sweeping her hands through his bangs. "My poor boy," she said, her voice tiny.

"What in the seven hells are you doing here?" Joffrey spat and then moaned at the way his head pounded in reaction to his own voice.

"I was worried. You should not drink so much-"

"A king can do as he likes," Joffrey groaned hoarsely before looking away from her. He did not need her concern. His father had been a drinker. He'd had his share of drink often, whenever he pleased. Shouldn't Joffrey be allowed to do the same? His legs wobbled as she helped him sit down on his bed again.

"Yes, but you also must give your decree today. The public is waiting, and I have been advised your betrothed wishes to meet with you before you make the announcement. The Tyrells and your grandfather wish for everything to move smoothly."

Joffrey's eyes flicked back upon his mother. "My betrothed?" he asked, momentarily confused. _Ah, yes. Sansa has been cast aside for Margaery Tyrell. _Once again, Joffrey was promised to a girl he hardly knew. It was as if he'd gone backwards, like all the time with Sansa had been for nothing. He groaned. "Oh right," he managed to get out as he stumbled out of bed. "I suppose I should ready myself, though I'd rather be left alone."

Mother sighed. "There are things we must do because we have no choice," she said. "I understand how much Sansa has begun to mean to you, and I am certain marrying Margaery will be difficult at first. But she is pretty enough—"

"Sansa means nothing to me," Joffrey lied. "I've told you so thousands of times." He took a long drink from a cup of water on his bedside table, trying to make his throat feel normal. Swallowing proved strenuous, and he broke out coughing.

"Joffrey, you don't remember last evening. Do you?" Mother said. She spoke like it was a question, but he could tell it was not. His gaze lowered as he wondered what it was he'd done that he'd obviously forgotten. The memory loss from alcohol was bliss, though it did have its setbacks. The lack of memory meant a certain loss of power and that was not ideal.

"Of course I do," Joffrey asserted. "If I am going to have to give this stupid decree, I want breakfast and hot tea as soon as possible. And wine."

"Do you think wine is the best idea?"

"Uncle Tyrion taught me that it is the best thing to help feeling ill," Joffrey shrugged.

"This does not surprise me in the least. I believe taking your uncle's advice on this matter is beneath you, Joffrey," Mother said, looking irritated.

"It worked last time," Joffrey retorted icily. "I hate Uncle Tyrion as much as you. Perhaps even more. But he knows what he is talking about when it comes to drinking. Out, Mother. I wish to be alone for a bit. I am in too much pain to discuss such pettiness with you—"

"Before you get ready, we _do _need to address what occurred last night, and we need to do so carefully."

Joffrey's eyes narrowed, though his interest was peaked. "What do you mean?" he inquired slowly.

"Your relationship to Sansa is not something that should be spoken of by anyone besides us. At least until you are married, and she is wed to another. I know you feel invincible as king, but there _are _certain rules of conduct, and Sansa could get in a great deal of trouble. You do not wish her to be in trouble. Do you?" Mother's voice was calm and kind, yet Joffrey could not ignore the chill in it.

Joffrey paled. "What are you talking about? What would she get into trouble for?" He was beginning to get a bad feeling as he tried to remember the blurry events from last night. Unfortunately, he could not even recall getting into bed. He could scarcely remember what Margaery Tyrell looked like. All he recalled was her submissive curtsying, her deep cleavage line…

When Mother beckoned for him to sit beside her, Joffrey sighed but did so. "You brought Sansa into my sitting room and asked me to listen to her. I try to give you your independence, Joff, but this has gone entirely too far. Of course I had my suspicions. Sansa really is a lovely girl though you need to realize she is not fit to be your queen. She is still too tender and your grandfather is right. It is unwise to have a Stark sit beside you on the Iron Throne. Especially now—"

"I don't remember coming into your chambers," Joffrey muttered, a pink hue spreading across his cheeks like a summer fire. "Obviously, it was a mistake."

"You were not yourself," Mother responded, and touched his arm with gentleness. Despite how ill he felt, he was suddenly happy for his mother's care. She could help right him. She always had, despite her times of futility. "I will not pry for details. You are king and it is true, a king often does as he likes. Your father is a great example of that," she went on, and Joffrey set his jaw, hoping she wouldn't speak ill of the late king Robert. "Your father did as he liked, and the people seemed to admire him still. We were married then, though, and he had the ability to live just how he pleased. Despite our differences, your father attended to his duties in court and on the battlefield as he needed. And so I will speak and hope you will hear me."

Joffrey waited as Mother cleared her throat, her eyes watching him all the time. "Be quick," he urged.

"You need to make certain you pay your new betrothed respectful attention. You must make today your greatest day, Joffrey. The people need hope and they need you to be a king who puts Westeros and his family first. Margaery Tyrell will now be residing in King's Landing. You will make her acquaintance. You will court her appropriately—"

"I did all of this with Sansa!" Joffrey said, frowning. "I know what I am doing!"

"Your situation has changed," Mother said, patting his arm. "This is _very _different. If you continue to…" She appeared to be struggling for the right words. "…Seek the company of Sansa, which I'd advise against, you will need to be more careful. It is considered heinous for an unmarried young woman to be without her maiden's head, Joffrey."

"I have no idea what you speak about," Joffrey said, though his tone was a bit frail. His head pounded as hard as his heartbeat in his chest. _Mother knows. She knows. _

"I will do what I can," Mother went on, "but you need to exercise caution. King or not, you must abide by the rules. Margaery is going to be your queen now, and she will bear your children. Treat her as such. And if you believe you must see Sansa, consider her fate. She deserves a life beyond the castle, does she not?"

"She's mine," said Joffrey glumly.

"Would you care to see her stoned? Mocked? Scorned across the land? Would you care if the people of Westeros demanded you kill her for breaking the vow of your betrothal?"

A wave of emotion swept through Joffrey like the sea that lapped at the shores of King's Landing. "They wouldn't dare," he said stiffly.

Mother leaned to his ear, her voice barely audible. He had to lean in to discern her words. "You do not care so little about her, as you have attempted to show others. And if you have done as I suspect you have, Sansa will not be suitable for marriage. Not to you or anyone." Joffrey wanted to protest, but Mother went on. "Keep your voice still and your movements careful and no one else will know. We can marry her off within the castle, within the city, and you can still have her—if that is what you wish. But you must wait until you marry Lady Margaery. Then, you can have Sansa. You can have any woman you wish, or none, as long as you and Margaery put a beautiful boy on the throne."

"You d-don't mind?" Joffrey managed, fixing his mother with a look of astonishment. "I thought you would be angry. I thought you never wanted me to care about anyone but my family—"

"I cannot stop you from caring about Sansa Stark. But I what I can do is try to stop this from getting out of control. Sansa is a priceless asset to King's Landing. A key in keeping relations with the North. No one can know but us, my love. No one can know until you are both wed and then you may do as you wish," Mother replied. "I know your grandfather. He has an eye for pulling out secrets. He is also a supreme strategist and luckily, I have followed in his footsteps in this respect." She smiled, looking proud of herself.

"What is there to be done?" Joffrey asked. He could hardly imagine how today would unravel. All he could think about was his future. He could rule with Margaery as his queen and see Sansa in the dark of night. Mother was correct. Once he was married, it would be easier. It would no longer have to be a secret. But could Joffrey wait to be with Sansa again?

The queen regent gave him a small smile and put an arm around his shoulder, clasping him tightly. "I will deal with Sansa. You only need to focus on building your relationship with Lady Margaery Tyrell. When you speak today, let the people see your love for Margaery radiate—"

"But I don't love her," Joffrey interjected. "It is my duty to marry her, like you said!"

"You must convince the people of the court of your affection for her, Joff. Say what you must. I know you will be able to do it. No one can see you falter. No one can see your true feelings," Mother advised. "Particularly your grandfather and your meddling Uncle Tyrion."

Joffrey nodded, considering everything he'd just been told despite his throbbing head. There was a knock at his chamber door and after allowing permission to enter, a chambermaid curtsied in the doorway.

"Your grace," she said breathlessly, "I have been asked to prepare you to meet with Ser Loras Tyrell and Lady Margaery Tyrell. Lord Mace Tyrell has just arrived. Your breakfast is on its way and in the meantime, I will dress you for the day."

Before Joffrey could say a word, Mother put up her hand. "You will not touch my son," she hissed. "Instead, you will go inform the Tyrells that we will be ready within the next hour. My son will speak to the court after the clock strikes two."

As the maid left them, Joffrey turned back to his mother, a questioning look in his eyes. "Why are _you _going to dress me? I'm not a child."

"Today is a new beginning for you," Mother said, "and I want to be the one who helps you prepare." She did not meet his eyes as she spoke, and Joffrey noticed how very close she stayed to him throughout the morning.


	30. The Shadows Move Forth

CHAPTER 30: The Shadows Move Forth

* * *

..

SANSA  
..

When the creaking of crickets was replaced by a cacophony of the shrill chirping of songbirds and the pitch black of the chamber filled with light that cast dancing shadows upon the ceiling, Sansa knew she had been lying awake all night.

She had no answers. She no longer even had the very slight bit of protection that came with being Joffrey's betrothed. Tyrion had defended her because she was Joff's future wife, and Cersei had even attempted to coerce Joffrey into not beating her for the sake of the realm. Now, Sansa was no future queen. She was only a girl who was very far from her home who knew enough to be certain she was never going to return.

And beyond that, Sansa was an unmarried girl with no maidenhead in a cruel kingdom. The faint ideas she'd had of womanhood seemed a joke now. Sansa knew how it felt to have a long, thin boy-shaft shoved inside her, knew the taste of salt and sweat, knew how it was to be stretched and clawed at. She'd been taken by King Joffrey multiple times, where and when he liked, and now she wasn't even going to be his. He suddenly seemed to care about her but what did it matter in the larger scheme of events? Could he even protect her? And what would he be protecting her _from, _exactly?

With all of these muddled thoughts running through her head, Sansa sat up, planting her long legs on the cold floor. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror produced an odd feeling of disillusionment. In the reflection was a girl she hardly recognized. _Dark circles under the eyes, bruises on the throat, slightly spread legs, chin held high._

Whatever it cost, Sansa had decided she was determined to survive. She'd come too far, endured too much, to stay that silly little dreaming girl. The girl in the mirror was solemn and cared nothing about handsome knights and good deeds, songs and flowers. The girl in the mirror only needed the protection of a very mean boy king, needed protection from the Lannisters (_the enemy_) and she felt it in her gut, in the very back of her throat, in her bones:

She was a different girl and she was willing to do anything to keep her head.

When Shae bumbled in with breakfast, Sansa was still staring stony-eyed at her reflection, now seated at the vanity with one hand placed on the glass as if staring her twin dead in the face. The glass was cool, soothing. She barely moved at the sound of the door swinging open, the dull _click _of the latch. The tray plopped down in front of her, showcasing a mountain of warm bread with blood-colored jelly and runny eggs beside it. Tea steamed in a cup and Sansa's nostrils wrinkled at an herbal smell she did not recognize. It was earthy and deep.

"Not hungry," Sansa whispered, and her own voice reverberated strangely in her own ears after being bathed in silence for so many hours.

Shae's hand fell to her shoulder and gripped her there with unyielding purpose. "My lady," she said, and the music was gone from her voice. "How are you feeling this morn?"

"You know," Sansa said at once, and swiveled to meet the handmaiden's dark eyes. "You know I'm not to be Joffrey's queen." A bit of hope swelled in her chest. _Answers?_ "What else do you know? Has Lord Tyrion told you anything else? What will be done with me?"

"Shh!" Shae said, finger curling in front of her lips. "Lower your voice, my lady. I know nothing much. Only that there is a new betrothed, a girl whose family has made quite a deep impression on the Lannisters. I know nothing else. Maybe they would send you home?"

"No," said Sansa firmly. "The queen made that clear enough. They'll use me yet, though _how _I do not know. If it becomes known I was with his grace in that way, I'll surely be killed."

Sansa watched as Shae's eyes flickered to the breakfast tray. "Not necessarily," said the handmaiden quietly. "A woman in a handmaiden's dress that I have never seen before gave me this tray. I know she does not work inside the castle but I did not ask questions. My lord has told me to never ask too many questions. She says as an order from the queen regent, you are to drink the tea. Every last drop. She was very serious. She slammed me against the wall of the kitchens and put her fingernails to my throat—"

"Shae!" Sansa bleated, eyes widening.

"She said you will drink this tea each week, and if I am to tell anyone, my throat will be slit and my head hung high. And your punishment worse—"

Sansa's voice came out in a worried yelp. "The tea? What sort of tea is so important?"

"She did not tell me direct, but I know of this tea from experience," Shae said softly, her voice a dull hum. "You must do as she says—"

"Yes, but what could be so special about tea?" Sansa asked, baffled.

"Lady Sansa," Shae said, and her voice dropped to a whisper so quiet that Sansa leaned toward her to catch her words. "Have you ever heard of moon tea?"

. .  
JOFFREY

..

All eyes were on Joffrey. Mother's were casting an urgent stare upon him creating juxtaposition to her patient smile and Grandfather Tywin was looking on grimly. Tommen sat wide-eyed, wooden toy horses in his hands. Lord Varys kept his focus careful while Baelish stared Joffrey head-on with a grin as thin as his facial hair. Pycelle shook and nodded, Ser Loras looked on in discomfort, and his father Mace appeared just as nervous. Lady Margaery's doe eyes were wide and the corners of her mouth pulled up coyly. Joffrey looked at each of them in turn, ignoring the old crone who had just been introduced as Margaery's grandmother Olenna. The old woman looked worse off than Maester Pycelle and her voice and mannerisms had instantly annoyed Joffrey. He drummed his hand on the table and smirked, wondering why everyone was staring at him. It was curious. He simply wanted to give the public decree and be finished with the entire charade so he could sleep off his headache.

"Your grace," began Grandfather Tywin, breaking the silence, "do you not think you should say something? Your betrothed has family who have traveled far to make your acquaintance. Would you consider welcoming them?"

"What would you have me say, Grandfather? They were coming here anyway," Joffrey shrugged. "I say we discuss what will be said in front of court! Let's get the task done with!"

"The king means not to offend," Grandfather said, as if excusing Joffrey, who glowered. _Kings don't need excuses! Kings can do anything they wish! Something Grandfather would know if _he _ever were ruling a kingdom! Like he even could! _

It was the old Tyrell crow who spoke next, her voice lilting with amusement. "Offend? You know, Lord Tywin, as we get older and older, it seems the kings and queens get younger and younger. King Joffrey's brevity and haste may seem heretical to some, but I am comforted by the suggestion to move the discussion forward," she said, and smiled in Joffrey's direction with a long bow of her head. "Thank you, your grace. Moving forward would be idyllic." All around the table, the group tittered though to Joffrey's delight, Grandfather looked a bit vexed. _The old woman certainly is sharp-tongued, _he thought. _Perhaps I misjudged her. I still can scarcely look upon her ugly face. _

"Indeed," Joffrey said, made bolder and louder by Lady Olenna's agreement. The heads of the group snapped to attention. "Lady Margaery has committed to reciting the words she spoke yesterday at small council. She will tell the people of the court my good deeds, and she will commit to our reign together as king and queen. Isn't that right, my lady?" He stared at the dark-haired girl in interest, still beguiled by her beauty despite his impatience. When she averted her eyes and asked permission to speak, Joffrey granted her permission and felt his legs quiver in excitement. _Such submission makes a maiden even more gorgeous to behold, _he thought. _She has all of Sansa's obedience and none of Sansa's treason. Perhaps this shall be a very good arrangement._

"Your grace, I do fully intend to make my love for you known before the courts on this day. I have been hard at work last evening and this morning, gathering my thoughts. I will tell them of your courage and your kindness, how I have heard such splendid things and have longed to meet you!" Lady Margaery said, her smile wide and curled. Her bright eyes flickered.

He threw a look at Mother, who smiled expectantly. _'Let the people see your love for Margaery radiate', _she had said. As little as Joffrey cared for her, or the approval of anyone, he _was _well-versed in the conduct of court. If this was a role to play in order to keep Sansa as his property, he would play his part as well as possible.

"And I shall profess my love for you in turn, Lady Margaery," Joffrey said, his voice high and tone rapid. It was a fun sort of lark, particularly when he considered the shock of the court, and Sansa's broken heart. _Sweet Sansa. You cannot be my queen but you will stay with me forever. I will not let you go. _He couldn't wait to deliver the merry news to her. For now, his focus had to be on his new betrothed. He made eyes with her again "Let us do this and the people will know of their sweet, new queen!" The small council and the guests broke into applause and verbalizations of support for Joffrey's words. Margaery beamed.

"A union blessed by the Gods!" Pycelle said enthusiastically. He changed his tone, too, agreeing that since Father was deceased, the tie to the Starks was unnecessary. With Pycelle's pious speech, the people of court would be in full support of the union between houses Baratheon-Lannister and Tyrell.

At last, it was time to take the throne. Joffrey adjusted his crown and black velvet sash, trying not to think about Sansa.

. . .

Sansa was standing above the crowd, hands clasped together as she hung over the balcony of the throne room. Joffrey kept craning to see her, to try to make out her expression. She looked blank. Vapid. He stared up at her, willing her to show some sort of emotion. He was interrupted by Mother squeezing his arm. It was time.

Enjoying having all eyes on him and wanting to get the biggest reaction he could, Joffrey put his all into the decree. He gave a declaration of appreciation for Grandfather Tywin coming to the city's aid, and publically named him Hand of the king. As soon as Joffrey noticed Uncle Imp in the crowd wearing a deep frown amplified by the deep gash in his already ugly face, he sneered, finding the task far more enjoyable than before. Uncle Imp had thought he was _so special, _acting as Hand, and a horrible Hand he'd been. It gave Joffrey pleasure to strip him of the title, and it was apparent the courtiers shared the same opinion. Cheers rang out for Lord Tywin and Joffrey was suddenly prouder of his grandfather than ever. _Down with the Imp, and in with the new. The Hand may be old and easily made irritable but he is a Hand I trust, _Joffrey thought as he clasped hands with Grandfather and bestowed the Hand's pin upon him. It shined Lannister gold against his grandfather's chest piece.

"Yes, King's Landing owes a great debt to my grandfather Lord Tywin Lannister!" Joffrey announced, shouting over the crowd whilst raising one hand. The hall fell silent. "But we are also indebted to Lord Petyr Baelish, who forged an alliance for us with the great House Tyrell!" Applause filled the room once more. "Baelish, your deeds will never go forgotten!" As people clapped, Joffrey relished in the positive energy of the crowd. He rather enjoyed giving punishments but it was nice to have the support of the court. Once Baelish had stepped back with his promise of land, Joffrey beckoned Ser Loras Tyrell forward. Loras bowed deeply. This moment needed to be flawless. Excited, Joffrey could barely keep his eyes off Sansa.

"Ser Loras Tyrell, your armies came to our aid when others would not," Joffrey began, "and for that, Ser Loras, the houses Baratheon and Lannister, not to mention the entire city of King's Landing, is in debt to your family." He got to his feet and stared out into the crowd, arms outstretched, trying to remember his lines in their exact wording. Mother and Grandfather Tywin looked on. "I have asked Ser Loras what his family would desire! We have discussed this matter with much thought and it is with much happiness that I announce I have accepted Ser Loras and his family's proposal. Some months ago, I made a sacred vow to marry my betrothed Sansa Stark !" He met Sansa's eyes, saw the flush appearing in her cheeks even from where he stood. "However, I have been advised that such a union is unwise as Sansa's family rebels against me still. Today I will cast Sansa aside and claim a new betrothed!" Joffrey paused for effect, and Pycelle stepped beside him.

The crowd murmured, and many of the courtiers turned to meet Joffrey's gaze toward Sansa in the balcony. She lowered her head. What was it she was feeling? Sadness? Shame? Embarrassment? Despite his feelings for her, Joffrey still felt a ripple of hot thrill.

"Fear not, people of King's Landing! This union is blessed by the Gods!" Pycelle exclaimed. "The king's first betrothal was made by the late King Robert, rest his soul. He had not the foresight to tell where his faith in the Starks would lead. Let us move on and embrace the new relationship between house Tyrell and your King Joffrey for it is the best possible choice for the entire realm!"

The stunned faces and murmuring turned into scattered claps. Joffrey searched Sansa's face for answers. He could tell she was looking at him and safe inside his layers of formalwear, his cock twitched. _She must be shocked. _Again, his mother put her hand on his shoulder and Joffrey snapped to attention.

"Lady Margaery, step forward!" he shouted, and she did just as he asked with not a second of hesitation. "It has been decided that house Tyrell will join my own two houses, and that you will stand with me as queen of Westeros as soon as possible!" Margaery curtsied deeply, pausing to smile at the crowd. "Margaery Tyrell, do you accept my offer? Will you do the duty of being my new queen? My wife?"

"Yes, your grace," she said, and Joffrey observed that despite her previous exhibition of coyness in his presence, she appeared to feel at ease speaking in the midst of the crowd. "I can hardly hold back my joy, and my heart sings at this news. King Joffrey, I have heard so many tales about you in Highgarden. I have heard of your bravery and your wisdom and not only that, but your handsome face. The tales are great but nothing could be greater than finally looking upon you in person! Nothing would please me more than to be your queen."

"Come, Lady Margaery, come!" Joffrey called out gaily, grinning from ear to ear. The crowd broke into polite applause as Margaery lifted her deep blue skirts off the floor and hurried to the edge of the stairway before the throne. When he outstretched his hands, Margaery placed her palms over his. Her hands were slightly longer than Sansa's, and they were warm and dry. He enclosed his fingers around her skin. "It is done! Let it be known that Westeros will have a new queen, a beautiful new queen!"

As the crowd shouted their approval, Joffrey stared up toward the balcony again in time to see Sansa fleeing the scene, covering her eyes and hanging her head. His smile waned, and he dropped Lady Margaery's hands, resisting the urge to follow the crimson-haired girl.

"You are a hero," Margaery whispered, kneading his fingers with her own, and Joffrey's attention was held once again. Margaery's eyes were darker than Sansa's, he noted, and they twinkled much darker, too. This was the closest he had been to a maid, separate from Sansa. He felt important and much aged. Would his father be proud? He was becoming quite popular with women now, too. He watched as Margaery smiled, and he tried to push Sansa out of his mind for what he hoped would be the last time that morning. "My heart flutters and my legs are all wobbly," she announced, giggling. "I feel so happy! Renly was kind to me, but he was older than me and you are so brave. So handsome." Her voice was sultry, mature. She reminded Joffrey of someone, someone, but he couldn't remember who. "Such a strong man!"

Though Margaery's hushed words made Joffrey puff out his chest, he raised his eyebrow and dropped Margaery's hands. "Renly was a coward," he said sourly, "and a traitor. He was my uncle and he plotted against my crown." Voices swirled around them as the courtiers departed, and Joffrey's family gathered round the front of the room.

"You are right, my king," Margaery nodded, letting her gaze fall to the floor in apparent regret. "Forgive me, I only meant that Renly was kind to _me, _personally, but you are so right—he was no king, he was a traitor. And he was quite wrong to cross you—"

"Traitors are not kind," Joffrey retorted. "They are only traitors."

"Doesn't our king speak wise words?" Uncle Imp asked loudly, creeping up alongside Margaery. "Excuse my interruption, but I did want to meet the lucky future bride. Please forgive my face." He extended one of his funny little arms and Joffrey watched as Margaery bent down and shook vigorously. She obviously had never heard of Tyrion. Soon, she'd learn.

"You must have fought bravely, my lord," Margaery said once the introduction was done.

"No," Joffrey argued with a sneer, stepping down from the pedestal, "he was knocked out cold. That is what my men say—"

"You had to ask your men because you had already taken a leave of absence," Tyrion said plainly and Joffrey bristled. Tyrion had mortified him in front of Sansa enough. He wasn't going to ruin this, too! Worriedly, he gauged Margaery's reaction.

But she simply smiled. "This city is lucky to have you, your grace," she said, her twinkling eyes locking into Joffrey's again. "Everything you have done is right."

Joffrey grinned, and looked down at Tyrion. He was no longer there, and when Joffrey searched the room he saw his uncle stomping off at his stubby legs at a speed impressive for his stature. He looked back to Margaery and shrugged. "My uncle's never really gotten on with anyone in my family. We do not abide by his obnoxious habits and you will not either. After all, you're mine now!"

"Yes," she said, "I am. I am hoping in these coming days I will see you? I know kings may be too busy for ladies. I should like to become acquainted, if it should please you—"

"It would indeed," Joffrey said, again thinking of Sansa. _Won't she be jealous! _"Lady Margaery, I invite you and your family to dine with me tonight. And then, tomorrow, perhaps we could take a walk in the courtyard. Of course, my kingsguard will guard the grounds, but it will be just us."

"I am delighted," Margaery said, smiling long and curved like Joffrey's bow. "I won't stop thinking about you until I see you again tonight, your grace. If you don't mind me saying so—"

"Of course I don't mind," Joffrey said. His eyes scanned Margaery's gown, taking in her swelling breasts. His chest rose and fell as he uttered a small sigh. He wasn't displeased with her, not exactly. He'd look forward to spending time with her, though his thoughts were still fixed upon Sansa. "There is something I must attend to. Excuse me, " he said hastily, moving away from the small group surrounding him. Margaery curtsied and Mother looked over at him with concern on her face. _If I find Sansa fast, no one will know! And I can be fast! _He headed out of the hall, his men on his heels.

"Joff!" called Mother. "Joff!"

He did not stop. His sleek boots stomped with purpose and his eyes searched the corridors for her red hair. When he exited out the side entry into the courtyard, his heart pounded. There was Sansa, sitting on a stone bench amongst the roses. "Sansa!" he cried out. "Sansa! Well, how did you like the surprise? Isn't she pretty?"

She scrunched her shoulders and after a moment, she looked up and opened her mouth to speak.


	31. Mastering Joff

A/N: love to my readers.

* * *

Chapter 31: _Mastering Joff_

..  
SANSA  
..

* * *

Sansa had known the announcement was pertaining to Joffrey's new betrothal, and she and Shae had decided that the best possible route would be for her to act completely devastated. Cersei had urged her to do this, and Shae had agreed. It would be what Joff wanted and as long as she kept him satisfied enough, she would stay alive. Especially since she had Cersei's protection. Sansa had never heard of moon tea before, but if Cersei was willing to supply her with a contraceptive, there would be no way Sansa would be able to mistakenly carry the king's bastard children. The thought had not even occurred to Sansa, though Shae explained what a horror that would be for her at this point. There needed to be no proof that Sansa had been intimate with Joffrey or any other man for that matter. _'You would be sold to the brothel,' _Shae had said gravely. _'Or your life would be taken.'_

So Sansa had been all set to act the part Joffrey wanted, the submissive, crying girl who worshipped at his feet. What she wasn't expecting was that she actually _did _feel something. Was it jealousy? Nostalgia? After all, Sansa was supposed to be that girl, the one Joffrey treated like a real lady. She'd watched from the balcony as Joffrey held his hand out to the dark-haired girl and smiled handsomely like the boy she'd first admired. Joffrey was able to get a new start, and Sansa was left in the shadows like a doll he'd mutilated and then thrown away. She thought it would not affect her, and yet the reality was horrible to take in.

Worst of all, Lady Margaery was the most striking, regal girl Sansa had ever seen. Sansa supposed she had not expected that. Margaery was what Sansa wanted to be. She was older, older than both Sansa and Joff, and her curves twisted expertly just like her fashionable chestnut curls. She wore her gown as if it were painted on her hourglass form, clinging in just the right ways. Sansa's own body felt gangly and awkward in comparison, like a little girl's. _No wonder Joff's smile was so bright. _

And Margaery already _looked_ like a queen, with her straight back and woman's way. Sansa knew if it were _she_ in front of the throne, she would have stammered and turned bright red. Margaery faced the crowd of courtiers and spoke as if she was born to do so. If Margaery was _this _perfect, there was a very real chance Sansa might lose all of Joffrey's favor. She wouldn't be his love _or_ a plaything. And then what would become of her? She had to keep his attention in any way she could. She'd known it this morn, and now she saw just how serious the situation was.

She slowly brought up her chin to look upon King Joffrey. His grin curled on his face as he waited for her reply, and feeling her thoughts swirl around her like a whirlpool, Sansa wondered what the apt response would be. Instead of rehearsing or saying what she thought he'd like to hear, she found herself speaking exactly what was running through her mind despite knowing that might be the most dangerous route.

"How am I supposed to respond, your grace? She looks like a queen, and I am only a traitor's daughter now. You said it yourself. I thought you cared for me, Joffrey. You cared enough last night to try to change my fate, when you took me to your mother and had me plead for your hand in marriage. I tried, Joff, but it didn't work. There was nothing your mother could do for us," Sansa said breathily, feeling the words spill over her lips like the blood Ser Meryn drew when he'd slapped her repeatedly in the throne room so long ago.

Joffey's flaxen brows rose and his lips pursed, a sure sign he was going to be angry.

Unable to stop herself, Sansa went on. "She seems lovely, really lovely and if she brings you joy, I would be crazy to stop you from loving her. I'm only afraid you'll forget me, that you'll have me killed because I'm no longer going to be your queen," she said, and as the words came out Sansa realized that they were true, and that perhaps she should not be giving Joffrey any ideas about what to do with her. The boy-king raised his lip, showcasing clenched teeth. _He's irritated. I've said too much. _Imagining herself on the block, her head rolling on the dusty ground just like her father's, Sansa experienced a jerk of fear.

_What's the use of me for Joffrey? He changes his mind, his mood, so often, and if I were him, why would I want me? He's already had me. _For some reason (fear, adrenaline, unbridled emotion? _Why am I being so emotional? Why can't I stay together? I'll be nothing if I fall to pieces_), this scared Sansa to her core and she began to sob. Thick tears rolled down her face and she completely broke composure. The only thing she had to do was act the part of the girl Joffrey liked, and she had failed at that, too. She might have to accept the fact there was nothing she could do.

Seconds later, she felt Joffrey's hand on her shoulder. Sansa's eyes fluttered open. The king was bent over her, his expression intense and his green eyes wide. "What I really wanted was you," he finally said in a deep mutter. "And I'll have you still! It's only that we'll need to be careful about it. I'll be keeping you here with me, Sansa. No matter what happens, you will be mine." His hand moved to her hair, caressing it with an odd sort of tenderness.

Feeling completely stuck in limbo, Sansa continued to cry. She cried because being Joffrey's queen had been the last stable role she'd have. She cried because she'd likely never go home. She cried because he was completely oblivious to everything except his twisted, perfect little world. She cried because of all things, he was actually being _nice. _Whatever Sansa was doing seemed to be working. Joffrey kept stroking her hair as she buried her head into his chest, the soft velvet of his tunic kissing her cheeks.

Something clicked into place in Sansa's mind like the stacking games Bran used to play: suddenly, as soon as everything wasn't right with them and likely would never be, Joffrey seemed calm and collected. Loving, even. It had been apparent before, and it was clear now: Joffrey was far more comfortable when others were in chaos, and Sansa needed to use that to her advantage.

She allowed herself to cry harder, tears catching on his clothes and he cradled her in his long arms. "Oh, Joffrey," she said, "I hope you mean it. But we'll never have our wedding—"

"Maybe not, though I'll have you whenever I please!" he said brightly. "Shh, it's going to be alright, Lady Sansa."

Sansa did not think it would be, though she had no choice but to nod her head into his chest. "Whatever you want," she said quietly. "I'll do whatever you want." _So help me, I have no other choice. _

Joffrey sunk down next to her and clasped her hands. "What I want is for you to kiss me," he said excitedly, his voice springy and his breath hot in her ear. "Kiss me and tell me you want me, and only me!"

_How could I dare dream for anyone else? There is no other choice! _Sansa thought and without hesitation, she did just as he'd requested after drying her tears upon the sleeve of her dress. She leaned into him and pressed her lips to his, tasting the familiar salty skin and feeling her stomach turn in a whirling way like she was falling down. Joffrey sighed into her mouth and placed a hand on her leg, stroking her there. "Only you," Sansa panted when she paused for air. "I only want you!"

"Yes," he said jubilantly, and ran his hand across her cheek. There was no cruelty in his eyes today, she noted. "Now, my mother says I mustn't be seen with you until you are wed, Sansa. As soon as you have a husband, I'll bring you to my bed every time I see fit! Until then, we'll be even more careful than before and everything shall go as planned!"

Sansa was about to ask whether Joffrey had any say in who would become her lord husband, hoping she would not become betrothed to someone fearsome or violent or too ugly. She wondered if Joff would even listen to a plea concerning the matter. But before she could open her mouth to speak, there was a rustling sound on the other side of the rose bushes. Sansa and Joffrey caught each other's gaze.

"Is someone here?" Joffrey snapped, jumping to his feet and drawing out the sword he had hitched at his belt. He ran round the circular bench, whacking the flowers with the hilt of the sword. "Show yourself!" Seconds went by, and no one appeared. "Must have just been the wind. I don't see a single soul," Joffrey shrugged.

_There isn't any wind today, _Sansa thought, though she held her tongue. After all, it was likely only a small animal.

Joffrey kissed the top of her head before lazily depositing his sword back into its holster. "Think of me," he advised her, a confident smile springing up on his mouth, "and I'll see you as soon as I can slip away!" He hopped off toward the castle where his kingsguard was keeping watch. Joffrey turned around and smiled again in Sansa's direction, giving her a wave.

She smiled back, feeling her body relax. Somehow, the extreme amount of emotion Sansa displayed had seemed to switch something in Joffrey's initial rude attitude. He liked being in control, _that _she knew, and it seemed he also liked to be holding her fate in his hands. For all she had pondered, he may have always been kind if Arya hadn't coerced him to show his ugly side. Joffrey liked to be thought of as a god in human skin, a magnificent hero. She was going to need to work on praising him more, letting him comfort her, and letting him take control. Everything now depended upon Joffrey, and Sansa had to learn how to manipulate it all: his protection, his promises, his mood swings. _Enough planning. It is time to take action. _

With her head filled with thoughts of Joffrey, Sansa gathered her skirts and headed quickly back into the castle. She needed to busy herself with sewing and keep her hands busy. She could finish the present she had started for him. She could read or draw. Anything to keep herself preoccupied. As she rounded a corner in the east corridor, someone collided with her and she fell to the hard floor.

"Gods, I can scarcely believe myself. My apologies—Sansa, isn't it?"

Sansa slowly raised her head up toward the sound of an unfamiliar man's voice. Crouching next to her was the blond, thin-faced young man who had introduced Lady Margaery during Joffrey's decree. As he helped Sansa to her feet, she could not help but blush. He was extremely handsome, though she hardly dared even think it to herself. He had large, strong hands and bright blue eyes with eyelashes that curled. "Yes, yes, I am Sansa Stark," she managed to say, feeling tongue-tied.

He gave a practiced bow and smiled at her. "My name is Loras Tyrell. I am usually much more aware of my surroundings though truth be told, I was attempting to get away from court and hide myself as quickly as possible. My grandmother is currently offending everyone within earshot, as usual."

Sansa giggled, covering her mouth. "Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly. "Ser Loras! It was you who fought against The-Mountain-That-Rides in the tourney! That seems so long ago! Oh, and you won! You fought so bravely—"

"I seem to have made a lasting positive impression on the king, as well," Loras said with a tight smile. He seemed to be thinking and then quickly added, "Which I am surely glad of! Thank you, Sansa. You are much too kind."

Sansa blushed deeper. "I'm not. Really, I'm not—"

"Please," Loras said with a skeptical smile. "Compared to the other occupants of this place, you are a lamb. Though I am sorry if I upset you with my announcement. I saw you flee the throne room. You need know it was nothing personal, and from what they say, they plan to keep you as comfortable as they can—"

"Ser, it's not your fault," Sansa murmured with a curtsy. "I only weep for losing my Joffrey. I do love him so." The words slid out easily, though Sansa felt asinine. Here she was, the silly girl who'd lost to Loras' regal sister. He must think her a fool.

Loras' eyebrows furrowed as if he was a bit baffled. "If you will excuse me, I need to find a good hiding spot. I have not rested since the battle on Blackwater, and I need to gather myself before I'm summoned to dinner." He bowed again.

"Good day, Ser Loras," Sansa said, watching as the tall man strode off down the hallway. _If only someone like that could become my lord husband, _she thought wistfully. _I could live well after all. But what am I thinking? First off, he is a knight. It is a ridiculous dream, one I should be forgetting. Still, I must admit Loras is nearly perfect. So kind and daring! _

When she returned to her chambers, Sansa kept her hands busy all afternoon with her sewing. Then in the evening, after Shae gave her a bath, she continued to keep her hands occupied. She twisted underneath her coverlet with them stuck between her warm thighs, fluttering her fingers over her swelling bud. She pictured Ser Loras coming home to her after a particularly grueling bout of combat. Worried he'd been harmed, she run to him and jump into his arms. He would kiss her chin, her neck, her hair, and then he'd place her gently onto their large bed (_beautiful with blankets of white fur and deep blue velvet_). _"Loras," _she'd whisper, threading her hands through his soft hair. _"Touch me." _

He'd move his hands down to cup her breasts and he'd very expertly move them to touch her private place. Sansa bit her lip as she felt warmer and warmer, her legs shivering and her hips bucking with the anticipation of a release.

"_Sansa, my lady Sansa, I told you only to think of me," _came Joffrey's voice in her head and the scene changed. It was not Loras atop her in the fantasy. Instead, she imagined it was the king. She reddened and bucked her hips harder, imagining the feeling of Joffrey's cock deep inside her. Joff brought his lips to her chin and bit her there. Hard. He pinched her hips and slapped her everywhere he could. _"I ruined you. I took your blood. You are mine! Only I can touch you!" _

Sansa whimpered aloud, her fingers flying. _"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" _she imagined herself crying, and all of a sudden she was _really _crying with pleasure, imagining Joffrey's eyes flashing with pride as she brought herself to the end. Spent, Sansa dragged her hand across her hairline to wipe away the dampness that had gathered there and she gritted her teeth.

It was horrifying to admit. Fantasy and reality was blurring. Sansa wanted King Joffrey to share her bed again as soon as possible. She caught her breath, trying to drive the thought of his touches and distinctive voice far from her mind. Shadows danced on the walls, birthed by the large candle on Sansa's nightstand.

"I don't love him," Sansa said aloud meekly. "Not really." _I don't love him, except I need him and I want him—and perhaps that makes it all worse. Perhaps that makes me more of a bad person. I can't help it. I have no choice. I have to keep him happy. That is the only reason I think of him! Only to stay alive—_

_You're lying to yourself, _she thought sharply. _You saw it in the mirror earlier and you know it. You are not the same. You are changing. And you _do _like when he visits you in the darkness. Admit it._

Sansa shook her head, her thick hair swaying slowly from side to side. Without really thinking, she leaned over to her nightstand and ran her hand through the flame that burned bright over the dripping wax. She yelped and drew her hand back, observing her palm with wide eyes. With surprise, she observed there was nothing different. It was only a bit red, like when it was very cold outside. Her heart still pounded in her chest.

After a few minutes, Sansa did it again. This time she let her fingers linger a bit longer in the fire before pulling them out. She trembled and rubbed her legs together, finally able to forget everything and drift off to sleep.

In her dreams, he visited her, though. His teeth were sharp and white and his nails dragged down her back, pointed like a wild cat's.


	32. What Can You Say to a Monster?

Chapter 32: _What Can You Say to a Monster?_

* * *

**_FOURTEEN YEARS AGO_**

**..**

ROBERT  
**..**

King Robert Baratheon was not afraid of anything. He had slain too many men to count, slashing his weapons through their guts and their hearts, spilling their blood out over marble and stone. He hunted for sport and was a master at slaying stags and bears and boars, most of the time with the keenest marksmanship possible (depending upon how much wine he'd consumed that day). Robert was constantly ready for a battle. Of his brothers and friends, it was he who was the champion warrior, the esteemed fighter. It was really the only part of being a king he liked. Fresh air made his blood pulse hotter, made his skin feel like it was tingling, and using a battle-axe or sword practically made him want to shout with glee.

Inside the castle, it was stifling. High tension and unease was wedged in the thick, musty air. As soon as Robert returned from one of his many hunting trips or sojourns he was immediately ready to leave again, and for that he was not sorry.

Robert did not like to admit it, but as fearless as he was, it was only his family that unsettled him greatly. Everything else was right in his world except what should have been the simplest part of his existence. Robert had always _wanted _a family of his own and now that he had one, it was an entirely different thing. In his heart, he knew he should treasure his wife and children, yet sometimes they felt like strangers to him.

Robert had always loved women. He'd never love another woman like Lyanna Stark, of course, but that did not change the fact that he loved women. Robert also loved fucking women, all women: short, tall, fat, thin, dark, light, low-born, . Funny how the only woman he didn't adore was his own lady wife.

Queen Cersei was beautiful, though her looks were deceiving. _Just like a Lannister. Those damned curly locks of blond hair and pinched noses. Frowning, pouty, stern lips. _It wasn't only that Cersei was not Lyanna, it was that she was colder than the chilliest breeze Robert had ever felt while visiting Ned in Winterfell. They hardly made love, and neither of them really minded. When Robert got inebriated enough to pay her a visit in her chambers for the sake of heirs, she stared up at him with those piercing eyes of green fire and glared at him, unimpressed. Mostly, he just flipped her over so he wouldn't have to be haunted by her face.

Robert's younger children were not so vexing. Myrcella was as smart as she was sweet, and Tommen was overwhelmingly pleasant. Yet there was something in them that unnerved the king, something very wrong. Myrcella, for one, hardly spoke. For a child so young, she was silent as death. Not to mention, sometimes she seemed to have trouble eating, instead picking at her food and gagging. This was odd, but Robert supposed it could be as bad as Tommen. He was constantly wetting and soiling himself in the night and during lessons. Recently, he'd developed the strange gag reflex as well, emitting a terrible choking noise in his throat until his nursemaid put him to bed. _"What in the seven hells is wrong with these children?" _Robert had asked the new nurse, yet she'd only shrugged, looking nervous.

And if that wasn't quite enough to handle, there was Joffrey. Robert hated to admit that he could barely stand to look at his first son. Joffrey was only a child! Children were innocent! But there was something wicked in Joffrey that had led to Robert detesting the child the way he'd detested grown men. He deplored Joffrey's fluttering eyelashes, his garish sneer and constant posing. He was only a boy, though he acted older in a way the king could not quite explain. Robert could not voice his true feelings about Joffrey aloud for dread of how it would sound but the truth was he suspected that his oldest son was somehow behind the strange actions of the others. Where they were reserved, Joff was boisterous and attention-seeking. Where they were gentle, Joff verged on violent.

It was almost as if Joffrey was _trying_ to be unsettling, though Robert knew that was a stupid thought. He couldn't be that bad. Could he? Watching Joffrey was like falling down fast or catching a terrible fever. His awfulness manifested in strange ways. He did manipulative things, cruel things. He was sneaky. Mean. He broke toys, scribbled over paintings with black charcoal, and played too rough with his brother and sister. He often faked being upset so that the nurses would comfort him, except when they drew near him he'd do something bad like spit on them or try to pinch their tits as hard as he could. Shoved his delicate hands in the folds of their skirts. It was funny until he started trying to hurt them. _Seriously._ _What sort of child acts so?_

He'd always been a contemptuous little shit, of course—Robert had Cersei to blame for that. She'd spoiled the boy rotten from his very first day on the earth though it had gotten worse somewhere along the way. Now when he acted badly, she only had one thing to say: "It is not his fault!"

"Well! Whose pissing fault is it, then? The others?" Robert had asked the first time he heard Cersei utter those idiotic words. She'd narrowed her eyes and shrugged, not even respecting him enough to give him an answer. That woman was as hard-headed as their awful firstborn and _he_ was only seven years old!

Joffrey smacked Tommen with a wooden sword: _"It is not his fault!" _

Joffrey slapped and bit his mother's handmaiden when she drew too close: _"It is not his fault!"_

Joffrey used his first blade to decapitate a pigeon. It shouldn't have been so strange. Boys did those sorts of things. What unnerved Robert was Joffrey's expression while he fingered the pigeon's lifeless head in his small hands. Then he proceeded to chop the thing up and shriek with cold laughter. _That terrible laugh, gleeful and high._ When he showed it to Robert, he was obviously proud of his work. Though Robert only told him good blades should not be used to kill pigeons, that he'd been given that sword to learn how to spar, it secretly spooked Robert to his very core.

When he mentioned _this _to Cersei, she pursed those pouty lips and frowned. Her face was stony. Unreadable. "This city is filled with pigeons,"she said.

Robert could scarcely believe his ears. He wondered what would happen if Cersei's precious babe had stuck his septa, or a handmaiden, with the sword! Then what would she say? He imagined her pursing her lips, her eyebrows bending down:_" There is a surplus of people in King's Landing." _

The thought made Robert snigger. It wasn't funny in the least, though it was becoming so eerie, that Robert could not help laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Worst of all, Joffrey was constantly vying for Robert's attention and affection. The boy had siblings to play with, every toy in the world, and all he wanted to do was bother Robert with his obnoxious rambling and requests to be entertained. Every time Robert tried to leave, Joffrey would hang off his arm and make thousands of demands.

"I _have_ to go with you, Father. I cannot stand all these women!"Joffrey told Robert once, all self-assured and factual like a minute adult. He spoke to Robert about women as if he were a rough trader in an alehouse instead of a boy. "I hate them. If any of them come near me, I'll set them all to fire and watch their skin turn crispy and burned! Or I'll choke them until they can't breathe." He laughed that terrible laugh.

"You don't mean that!" Robert had said, a fire in his guts growing as he tried to hide his disdain for the rotten little monster. "In a few more years, you won't be able to get enough of them."

Joffrey blinked those angelic Lannister-green eyes and smiled. "I'll always hate them and I think they should all be dead."

Robert was speechless. But what can be said to a monster? Bizarre words like that were always falling out of Joffrey's mouth and Robert could only do so much. Cersei allowed him to say and do anything he pleased, coddling him like he would break. Robert had developed his own methods.

Smacking the child across the forehead served to shut him up for a bit, though lately it wasn't worth Cersei's squalling. Robert had decided to simply ignore him.

The only times Robert was willing to step in and discipline the little shit was when he was behaving oddly with his siblings. He'd grabbed Joffrey by his golden hair and flung him to floor upon finding him holding Tommen's head under trough water in the stable. "We were only playing!"Joff said. He said the same thing after he was caught sitting astride Myrcella in their playroom, a candle in his fist. "We were only playing." Those pretty angel eyes and that confident sneer. How could such a handsome little boy be so revolting? Robert stayed away as best as he could.

And Joffrey had the Dog now, which had been Cersei's request. _'He needs more men in his life and you certainly are not interested in raising him.' _Robert had no argument there so he'd had it done, though it made him feel a bit guilty so he left on a long hunting trip. When he returned, Joff was up to the same mischief, except now he had that sullen, burnt-faced youth on his heels at all times. Clegane tried to ask Robert for help once, as if Joffrey trying to shove toys down Myrcella's throat was some sort of shocking event. Robert did not want to hear about Joffrey anymore. Robert wanted as little to do with him as possible.

Robert kept it to himself and drank more, ate more, holed himself up in his chambers with his whores, stayed in council meetings, went to bed early, made excuses to leave King's Landing. Anything to keep away from the strangeness of his wife and their family. There was nothing he could do. He wanted to beat the child bloody each time, certain that might cure him. Cersei wouldn't allow it. According to her, Joff would grow out of it. She didn't think anything was the matter with him.

That was not _quite _true, now that Robert remembered it. There was one time Cersei admitted something might be off about Joffrey. It was just after his fifth Name Day. She'd come to Robert, her face twisted in concern. According to her, some handmaiden or nursemaid had spoken foully to their son and in Cersei's words, "may have fondled him".

Robert was stunned by her accusation. As usual, she was overreacting and seemed to be attempting to pull conflict out of virtually nowhere. When he asked what would drive her to such an insane thought,she looked near tears and reminded him Joffrey had been wetting his bed again, and some nursemaid had noted he'd been touching himself. _How foolish._ If Cersei had a cock, she'd likely touch it all the time, too. And the bed-wetting was likely some sort of scheme to get more attention. When he told her this and pressed her about the reasoning for her skewed way of thinking, Cersei completely snapped.

"You don't believe me!" she'd said, her face a twisted mess. For a moment, it looked like she might breathe fire. Her nostrils flared and the emerald moss in her eyes went putrid. "I'm going to take these matters into my own hands!"

Robert had snorted at her. "What matters? So, say it is true! Say Joffrey was taken by some handmaiden, some castle wench! Lucky for him, I'd say! The boy's had an education!"

"He's innocent!" Cersei had argued, backed into the corner of Robert's room like a feral cat. "If you spent any time with him, you would see the difference, but you're gone, you're always gone!"

_Ah, so this is what it's all about, _Robert had thought. _Not some half-witted lie about Joffrey being fondled, but about me failing. How completely typical. How completely Cersei. _

"What would you have me do?" Robert had asked, trying to reason with his unhinged liar of a wife.

_Evil bitch. Spitting wild cat. Demon woman. _

"You'll do nothing," Cersei responded, and she collected herself visibly right then, her features less horrifying and more like the girl he married. Severe yet pretty. "I want your permission to acquire new nurses. I want to deliver a punishment and I want to make certain whoever is doing this to our son stops immediately and is never seen again."

It was an asinine request, but if it made her shut up, Robert had been willing to grant her anything. He waved his hand and nodded, and it was done. For his indifferent agreement, Robert paid dearly. He had no idea how serious his wife was.

His queen had Joffrey's nursemaid Molly let go from the castle but not before she had the young girl's tongue ripped straight out of her head. When Robert asked why, Cersei said it was for the good of their family, for the good of the realm. The septa was let go, and any other young woman who had spent considerable amount of time with Prince Joffrey disappeared, too, some missing hands and others tongues or fingers. New nursemaids were hired, though they never stayed long. This went on for months. Cersei's madness was apparent in her shining eyes, her set jaw, the way she did not let Joffrey out of her sight for even a second. She took to sleeping with him, dressing him, bathing him. She and Joffrey became inseparable and Myrcella went forgotten.

Robert's whores were the only confidants he had. He was apprehensive to speak to his brothers or friends, not liking to admit how completely cracked his wife really was, or the sick truth that he was disturbed by Joffrey. The whores understood. He tried not to complain to them much, though he had no other outlet. Several of his whores seemed to sympathize with Cersei, saying she was only protecting her child and that it would all be solved soon. He told them about Joffrey's strange behavior, the way he grabbed and screamed and acted out. They wanted Robert to relax, to let the situation work itself out.

Thankfully, Robert's favorite girl completely understood his concerns. Some would say that Robert was being foolish, that whores were obviously _paid _to make men happy and to agree with them, but Robert knew who was acting and who wasn't. He liked fucking them either way, though it was nice to be with a woman who got on with him _and_ seemed like she was enjoying herself.

Lilit was perfect. She wasn't acting. Not at all. In the brothel, when he'd first laid eyes upon her, they called her the little devil. She was young, wild, and completely willing to do anything. She liked to get fucked every which way she could and she was free and fun. Most of all, Robert liked that she appreciated him. She adored his sculpted barrel chest, and she was attracted to the battle scars Cersei hated so very much. They had an exceptional chemistry, in bed and in conversation. When Robert voiced his concerns about the disappearing nursemaids and Cersei's increasing insanity, she looked as concerned as he felt.

"What does the queen know exactly?" Lilit had asked one evening, pausing in unhooking her corset. One of her long, slender legs was posed on the bed and Robert looked upon her from his pillows, admiring her shapely thighs and arse. She was beautiful in a way that was a bit unsettling. Her hair was bright red like blood in snow and she was so pale that her lashes and brows were a white gold color that only darkened in a certain amount of light. When she was really going at it, her tits slapped together and her mouth would open long and wide, allowing her to moan and shout her approval which she did with great enthusiasm. Her eyes were so ferociously blue that sometimes they looked white.

"She does not know shit," was Robert's plain response and Lilit laughed. When she laughed, she _really _laughed—none of that Lannister sniggering business. She tossed back her head and enjoyed life, her splendid curls coming loose out of her elaborate styling.

Lilit succeeded in unwrapping her tits and she set them free, running her hands over her nipples and smiling steadily. "If what she says is true, it's mad for her to be upset. Boys need that sort of guidance," she said coyly, crawling onto the end of the bed and peering at Robert through her crimson shield of locks. "There is nothing the matter with it—"

"The boy is odd, but it has nothing to do with what Cersei says. Likely it's her fault for giving him everything he wants," Robert guffawed as Lilit scooped her curls in one hand and poised over his waist, an impious smile on her lips.

"She seems a bit daft from what you say," she commented, not caring to hide the cruelty in her voice. She was crass and honest and Robert liked that. "What boy complains about such a thing? Any boy would be grateful—"

"That's what I said!" Robert exclaimed, and his breath came out in short huffs as Lilit trailed his inner thigh with her tongue, her fingers playing in the black curled hairs there. "Anyway, Joffrey has nothing the matter with him. And if there _were_ a woman around him, wouldn't I know it? The only tits that boy is interested in are his own mother's!" He laughed at his own joke, though his chortles stopped short when the redhead lapped the length of his cock with expert ease. She sucked him off until his breathing became speedy and his legs twitched. He groaned when she grazed him with her teeth, bringing him close to the edge, so close. Then she released him from her mouth, instead running her long nails down his legs. "Gods!" he sputtered. "Are you trying to skin me alive?"

Her eyes flickered into half-moons and she flipped onto her back, smiling at him through her hair. She ran her hand between her legs and bristled, giving a moan. "Make me your queen instead," she mewled. "Make me your queen and I'll fuck you _and _your son and make you the happiest men in the seven kingdoms—"

"Queen of the sluts," Robert chuckled.

"I mean it," she fake-pouted. "I'd like to see my father's face if that happened! He sold me for a shit mare and a handful of coins to an old raper from Fleabottom and here I am. I'd like to see his face if I became queen. It would be funny, wouldn't it—"

"Your father sounds like a tender sort," Robert said with a roll of his eyes and took his length in his hand , stroking it while watching her. Robert was more than willing to take care of his girls. He paid generously and even more so when they gave him bastard children. He wanted to know they were comfortable and happy, but as far as their pasts and private lives went he really preferred to remain dumb.

Lilit flipped over on her stomach, her breasts firm and large against the mattress. "He did what he had to do. He knew what I could do. With my body. Some of the girls, they're new at it. I know what I'm good at. I've been taking men since I was eight years old—"

"Eight years old?" Robert questioned with a wry grin. "There really isn't any good in you, is there? Dirty little bitch!"

"Make this dirty little bitch your queen," Lilit whined, stretching and posing with her shapely behind in the air.

"Would that I could," he said with a sigh. "Though if you were here with me every night, I might be too worn to rule Westeros—"

"If I was here every night," she said, "I'd be the highest paid whore there ever was!"

Robert let out another baying laugh. "If you were my queen, I wouldn't pay you, lest I drain the entire Iron Bank!"

Lilit sat up on her knees and flung her hair back. Her eyes flashed as she bestowed a grin upon him. "I'll be your queen _and _be paid—"

"Gods, you're insufferable! Get that sweet body over here!" Robert exclaimed, and she dissolved into excited giggles when he grabbed her hand and pulled her into his lap. She fit over him just right and her twat was pulled tight around his shaft as she bucked and bounced. She shifted and let him fuck her with her legs wrapped around his neck before declaring it was time to make him come for her. Straddling him with her arse facing him, she brought him to orgasm by riding him hard and fast, her flesh coming down upon his cock in violent slaps of passion. When he came inside her, she gave cries of, "_My king, my king_!" before collapsing next to him on the tangled sheets.

Robert was nearly nodding off when Lilit ran her hand across his chest. "Do you think it's all a misunderstandin'?" she asked, and he furrowed his brows at her, confused.

"What is?" He cleared his throat and sat up to pour a cup of wine.

"Your son. What I mean is, do you think the queen will keep it up? Keep hunting for the girl she thinks did something wrong?"

"Why should you be so worried?" Robert chuckled, before draining the goblet.

She gave him a strange sideways glance. "I'm not worried. But…Do you think it's all about those times when I put him to bed? You know. When you asked me to handle him?"

"When did _you_ put him to bed?" Robert asked, completely baffled. "I must have been piss drunk—I have no recollection telling you to do such a thing."

"You were. It was some time ago," she said quickly, and she sat up, wringing her curls. "I just don't want to get blamed for nothing. Does the queen know about me?"

"The Others take the queen!" Robert declared. "Can you imagine what she would say if she knew her precious son had been around a common whore? No, she doesn't need to know this. Not a word," he said, amusement in his voice as he thought about how crazy Cersei would get if she knew. Blast it. A woman was a woman, and if Cersei had a problem with a whore putting her son to bed perhaps she should have been more attuned to his needs.

"It's all a mistunderstandin'," Lilit said, and this time her voice was firm and low. She started talking fast. "You know, I was only taking him out of his nightclothes and he clung right to me. He held onto me and I could tell he wanted me to touch him." She let out a laugh while watching Robert. "I could _tell _he was excited. You'll have to watch out with that one. He's already trouble, your grace."

There was a beat of silence and then Robert let loose a bout of wry laughter. "As if I have enough to worry about, now you tell me my five year old son is trying to steal you right out from under me." He scratched his beard with a grin. "I _knew _Cersei was overreacting. The woman is poison."

"Boys are like that," Lilit said with a shrug. "They start early and they never stop."

That was the last clear time Robert recalled seeing her. She was back to fuck him once or twice in the next few months and then she went missing like so many other whores did. He looked back on those times as pleasant memories, simpler days. No other whore was as willing to try absolutely anything.


	33. The Charms of Lady Margaery

A/N: Thank you, as always, for the follows/reviews. I know this story may not be exactly what everyone was bargaining for and so I hope it continues to interest and please (even if the pleasure is a bit dark). I've been getting a lot of anonymous reviews I want to address and I will do that here.

_Kowareta kokoro (9/6): _Thank you so much. I've tried to stay true to the characters as much as possible while still morphing the plot into something of my own. Your kind words mean a lot.

_Guest (9/9): _ Thank you! I'm looking forward to developing Loras (as he's not in the books or show much). Yes, she's becoming used to pain but she also was using the fire as a tool to stop herself from thinking of Joffrey. She's going down an interesting route.

_Juanita (9/17): _The wedding (or whatever will happen!...) won't be for some time. There's way more to this story and Joffrey and Sansa have much to learn about each other.

_Guest (9/24): _Wow! 4 or 5 times? Thank you! I hope you enjoy the coming chapters.

_Unknown (9/25): _ I'm so grateful for that. I'm so glad you're still enjoying it!

_Guest (9/25): _I wholly agree, though Robert is just one of the people who could have made a difference in the kid's life. That's totally why I wrote this. I refuse to believe the "insanity of inbreeding" caused Joffrey to fully become who he was. Thanks for reviewing.

And now back to the story...

* * *

Chapter 33- _The Charms of Lady Margaery_

..  
JOFFREY

..

* * *

Taking supper with the Tyrells was long and tedious. Joffrey was tired of putting on airs. So what if Loras and his men had saved the city? All was done now, and that was behind them. What more could they ever want? Margaery had been promised to him, and there was no greater reward than that.

Loras was fine enough. He seldom spoke, though Joffrey grew irritated briefly after asking if Loras would dare battle the Mountain once more. Loras' response had been less than ideal. A bemused expression had crossed his face and he'd professed that he wished to never see Clegane as long as he lived. Though he spoke most respectfully, Joffrey wasn't looking for that negative answer. If Joffrey wanted Ser Loras to battle to the death, then he had better do it. That was that.

Margaery's ugly old bat of a grandmother continued to prattle on, making strange jokes that Joffrey cared not to understand. Even Grandfather Tywin looked like he wanted to backhand the woman, and Joffrey wished very much that he would. _A woman shouldn't_ _speak so boldly, _Joffrey thought as he drained his goblet of sweet red. _At least that's something Lady Margaery hasn't picked up from her dreadful hag. _

It was true. Margaery was the absolute picture of modest and ladylike, asking Joffrey's permissions for everything, which delighted him greatly. She asked his permission before she sampled the plump cherries on the table and when he nodded, she selected a large fruit and popped it inside her mouth while eying him coyly. The cherry bulged in Margaery's cheek pocket before she chewed it slowly, savoring every bit. Joffrey watched her, fascinated. She asked before the handmaiden refilled her cup of wine, too, and made sure it was fine before she sampled the chocolate tarts. Her eyes seldom left him, and all of her movements only came when Joffrey nodded his approval. Of course, he was also quite struck by her plunging neckline, her thick cleavage accentuated by her thin Baratheon-gold gown. He seldom heard any of the conversation at all. Before she departed to her chambers for the night, Joffrey confirmed that Margaery ought to meet him in the courtyard the next day at noon. She smiled bashfully before curtsying and disappearing out the door with Ser Loras.

The adoration that radiated from Margaery to Joffrey left him a bit dizzy. Even in Sansa's best of times, she did not act so enamored, so fully and truly indebted to pleasing him. Once again, Joffrey was counting his blessings. _I'll do it. I'll have two women, two beautiful women. My queen Margaery and my lovely Sansa. My father would finally think me a man! He'd be glad for me! _ He'd never managed to quite keep his late father's attention the way he wished to, though he knew now he'd finally be making him proud.

"How do you like her?" asked Mother as she and Joffrey departed the dining room, Meryn and Boros at their heels.

"I like her very well," Joffrey responded, with a small shrug of his shoulders. "She aims to please me, that is certain, and she is surely sweet." Mother's silence made Joffrey turn his head in question. "Why do you ask me this? Do you have something to say?"

"It is likely nothing," his mother said, "but I cared not for the way Lady Olenna spoke of the trials of the poor in King's Landing. Margaery's place is by your side. Not off in the slums of the city offering alms to beggars."

Joffrey stopped walking. The guards' armor clanged as they matched his steps, sending a loud _clank _up to the rafters of the hallway. "What are you even talking about?"

"All throughout supper, my love," Mother said, and her face was unreadable, though she looked baffled. "Lady Olenna—the Queen of Thorns, she's called- spoke as though she knows this city better than you have. She suggested Margaery march herself to the streets to work with the unfortunate folk." Mother sniffed haughtily. "As though you need her out making good of your name. Though I found it odd you granted her permission on everything her grandmother asked—"

"I didn't!" Joffrey argued. "I didn't even listen to that old crone. I can't stand to look at her or hear her. Her voice pierces my ears. I gave Margaery no permission to do such a thing!"

Mother grasped Joffrey's hand in hers, her eyes wide and serious. "You did, Joff. You _did. _Lady Olenna asked whether Margaery might spend the week in Flea Bottom, making good with the people there, and Margaery inclined her head to you and asked if this would be fine and you said _yes. _ She did that several other times, too. You gave her permission to visit the orphanage and speak to the children of the men who perished during the battle of Blackwater—"

"No," Joffrey said, shaking his head. "Margaery was asking me whether she could have more wine, more fruit—I gave no other permission! Mother, are you suggesting my new betrothed is trying to confuse me? Don't you think I would have noticed if that were happening?" A pause. "Don't you?"

"Joffrey—"

"_Don't you?"_ Joffrey shouted, baring his teeth and glaring at her. He twisted out of her grip in a flash.

"Joffrey, listen to me! I'm only trying to help you!"

Out of nowhere, the sound of loud whistling interrupted their row. At once, both Joffrey and his mother turned to look. Past Meryn and Boros was Uncle Tyrion. He was strolling the hallway, smiling like he hadn't a care in the world.

"Oh, pardon me, your grace!" he said, indicating Joffrey. "And _your_ grace," he said, to Cersei. His movements were wobbly, making him look even funnier than usual. They stared at him, matching expressions of contempt on their similar faces. "Pardon me, pardon me, pardon me!" It came out sounding like a jolly little song. Joffrey was tempted to laugh but was silenced by his mother's fiery expression. "I wouldn't want to interrupt any of your mastermind schemes."

"Whatever are you speaking about, Imp?" Joffrey snarled.

Tyrion walked closer, making his steps with some effort. He swayed. Joffrey's nostrils flared at the smell of wine. _Drunk, as usual. _"Oh, you needn't worry, my kind king. You are so enigmatic, so positively guarded, that all of your brilliant plans will _definitely _stay quite hidden! You have nothing to worry about!"

"Care to insult the king again, _Imp?" _Meryn growled, drawing his blade. "You're not Hand anymore—"

"Ser Meryn, relax your own hand," Mother sneered. "He's not worth this trouble, nor the time it would take to clear his blood from your handsome blade—"

"Ha!" Tyrion burst out. "Good one, Cersei! You're quick, I'll give you that. But how quick are you, really?"

Joffrey's lip curled, his mind still wrapping around his uncle's words. "Worry? Why would I worry, you little beast?" he shouted.

"Don't listen to him, Joff!" Mother said. "Tyrion, you are drunk. Get out of my sight."

Tyrion only smiled wider, his mismatched eyes glowing in the soft candlelight of the hallway. "You have to control everything, don't you, Cersei? I'll imagine losing control of your son scares you most of all, and so naturally, you've made him into a little replication of yourself!"

"She doesn't control me," Joffrey said icily, his throat seizing up as he looked down at his uncle in fury. "No woman will _ever _control me!"

"Obviously not!" exclaimed Tyrion, sounding amused. Joffrey's fingers itched; he wanted to bash in the imp's brain himself. "You'd rather beat them bloody then allow that, wouldn't you?"

"We're going," said Mother curtly. "Come, Joffrey."

Joffrey sent Tyrion a loathing expression before following Mother away. Meryn and Boros trailed behind him.

As they walked away, Joffrey heard his uncle mutter something in a small voice. It sounded like he said, _"Poor Sansa." _Joffrey put it out of his mind at once. His uncle was only in another of his many drunken stupors. After all, what did he know or care of Lady Sansa?

_. . . _

The next afternoon, Joffrey strutted to the stone walkway in the courtyard clothed in new robes, black and green velvet with a fitted matching sash. A broach of gold and silver clasped the material at his throat. He knew that he looked appropriately handsome to spend time with his new betrothed. It was quite odd to think that only some months back, he'd spent the day with his _first _betrothed. _Of course, that hadn't gone right at all. _Joffrey was determined to make this a time to remember, a time that Lady Margaery would look back upon with utter fondness and love for her strong husband.

Less than two years ago, the ladies of court still used to giggle and wave before curtsying when Joffrey walked past. Now they only bowed their heads and ducked away when they observed him crossing the yard. _Proof I'm both handsome _and _earning respect. The qualities of a true king. _

As Joffrey stood at the cluster of vibrant rose bushes adjusting his collar, a light drizzle of rain began to fall. It was uncommon for that time of year in King's Landing, but it was welcome all the same. Relief filled Joffrey suddenly. The sky smelled fresh and untouched, looking pretty as it grew stony grey above the king's golden-haired head. Ladies seldom liked to be out in foul weather, so when Ser Loras announced Lady Margaery's arrival at the edge of the courtyard, he was slightly taken aback. His reaction surprised him a bit. He wasn't nervous to walk with Margaery, so what could it be? He put it all out of his mind as she drew near him, gorgeous as ever in the very reddest of red.

"Ser Loras, you may leave us. My kingsguard wait atop the castle steps just behind you. If we should be in any need, I will call upon them," Joffrey instructed, holding his head high as the little droplets fell. "Are you certain being out in such a rain pleases you, my lady?"

The dark-haired beauty gave a smile as if they shared a secret the whole world was naïve about. "My king, nothing would have stopped me from attending our walk. I very much want to know you. Besides, a light rain is good luck in Highgarden, though some might find that odd-"

"Very well," Joffrey nodded, as Loras descended toward the castle, sending a final glance back at them. "Take my arm," he commanded, after a moment of thought. Margaery instantly did as she was told, clasping at his material with a delicate grip.

She cast another enchanting smile up at him. "You look well, your grace. Very handsome, if I may say so. Forgive me if I say silly things. I so want to make a good impression on you!" She gave a laugh that seemed somewhat out of place to Joffrey, almost like an imitation of a much younger girl's, but he thought nothing of it. He only strutted with surer feet, his chin tilting higher.

"You may say so. And I'll be certain to tell you if you are not making a good impression. Lady Sansa has begun to learn her place and it took her a _great _length of time! Of course, you know she was to be my queen until you sweetly offered yourself to Westeros for the good of our families. Lady Sansa really couldn't have been a queen, or at least, not when we very first met." The words were coming as if by some spell, some curse, and Joffrey couldn't hold his tongue. Lady Margaery only smiled up at him as they walked. "Did you hear about the first time we met?" _Why bring that tiresome old story up? Nothing good can come of this._

"I have not. Is it a story you like to tell?" Lady Margaery asked in much innocence. "I do love to listen."

As they crossed over the cobblestones and wove through the cluster of trees near the crops, the drizzle became less evident, only coming down every few minutes or so in light _drips. _ "Oh, it's a terrible story, one that will embarrass the Starks forever and always," said Joffrey, and just like that, he began to confide in Lady Margaery with just what had happened that day on the Kingsroad. He told her about how he'd impressed Sansa with his riding skills, how they'd had a perfect afternoon of hunting shadow cats and exploring caves. Of course, until they'd come upon Sansa's sister and her friend. "He was a butcher's boy trying to be a knight," Joffrey said with a snort, and Margaery laughed.

"How odd," she said. He studied her, licking his lips. Her eyes were large, and curved up like a doe's.

"Yes!" he agreed forcefully, and tried to get his breath. For some reason his heart was pumping. By this time, they'd descended further into the foliage and were enshrouded by brush and trees. The rain had all but stopped. "He was fighting with the little Stark, Sansa's little sister! Then he fought too rough, much too rough." Joffrey looked at Margaery knowingly. "I have a little sister, you know. I wouldn't have her done like that, not by some common filthy butcher's son or anyone else!"

"I'd say not," Margaery chimed in, watching him with fascination. She obviously believed him, just as his mother had, and she seemed winded by his telling of the story. "I'll imagine you're just like Loras. He'd never abide me being treated so! Mostly he ruins things for me by being so protective but I think if I really needed him, he would run in and put it right. Just like you. You know, not many kings are well-suited to be knights, but you seem so brave—"

Joffrey nodded, her words only adding fervor to his speech. "Listen! The most awful thing happened next! The butcher's boy attacked Lady Sansa. He threw her down and began to beat her with the end of his sword!" Hearing his own voice echoing so loudly, so dramatically, made him feel that odd sensation from earlier. Nervousness?

"Gods, how horrible!" Margaery gasped, and she grasped Joffrey's sleeve a bit tighter. His heartbeat raced faster. "What did you do, your grace?"

"There was nothing I could do," said Joffrey a bit sourly, his face reddening slightly. He dropped down on a nearby stone bench. Margaery sat beside him at once. "The little Stark, the little rat of a girl, beat the back of my head as I tried to save her sister. Can you believe that? I was trying to save her! Then she called her direwolf on me. That beast tore up my hand and arm so badly the Maester said I'm lucky it's healed as well as it has."

Margaery cringed. Despite his strange, heart-thumping feeling, Joffrey was glad for her unbridled support. "May I see your wound, your grace? If you don't mind, I'd like to gaze upon the price of your bravery."

Smiling despite himself, Joffrey rolled up his cuff with some effort to display what was left of the wolf's bite: a thin crimson line in his flesh near the base of his wrist that had turned his own flesh against him. _Ugly, _he still thought even now, after so many months. The wound had weakened him in front of Sansa and had ruined it all from the very start. But he didn't tell Margaery that. "See here? You should have seen it then. Ripped right in half. Of course, that's what my guard did to the butcher's boy when he was tracked down." He surveyed her face for a reaction.

The Tyrell girl only observed his wound with curiosity and fear upon her face. "I should hope so!" she said in astonishment. "To strike down a brave prince defending his lady would invite no lesser punishment!"

"You're really right in that, my lady," Joffrey said with some amazement. Mother may have had her qualms with the Tyrells, but he was beginning to think Margaery would be the perfect wife for him. So far, she seemed to know the right things to say. Not to mention she was very good to look at.

Today, her dress clung as hard to her breasts as ever. His eyes scanned her flesh, and he wondered how it would feel to have her. Would she be like Sansa, soft and wide-eyed, taking it in with some effort and then crying his name? Would her skin feel the same way?

Joffrey thought not. Why else would men take so many lovers? There had to be a unique quality to all of them, but what? Was it scent or sound or touch? All at once he wanted to know.

"I'm happy you are here to tell me the tale," Margaery said, snatching him out of his short daydream. She placed her hand gently on his arm. "And that you could be so very honest to a near stranger. That must have been very hard."

"It was a horrid day, but I must tell it lest the folly of the Starks be forgotten."

There was a slight pause as Margaery tenderly helped Joffrey to cover the wound with his cuff once more. She finally spoke, in a quiet yet articulate way. "Are you quite upset you won't wed Sansa? Matters of court are so well over my head, and I had no idea I might very well be ruining a perfect bond."

He blinked several times. The question confused Joffrey, though it did not spark his anger. Lady Margaery was not insolent nor was she nosy. She seemed as if she simply wished to know more about his inner thoughts. He was tempted to answer with utmost honesty. There was something in Margaery that comforted him; there was something that made him wish to be open, yet he knew his mother had made him promise not to speak a word.

"I am not upset," he said, with firmness in his voice. He tugged at his sleeve. "I am quite happy to make you my queen, to give you the honor of bearing my children. Lady Sansa would be better married off within Westeros. I don't have much use for her."

"But she is very beautiful," Margaery said. "Her hair and her eyes!" She clasped her heart suddenly with a smile. "When I spied her in the stands in court my heart hurt for her. Not to mention, I couldn't see why you'd not want her."

"She's a traitor's daughter and she did betray my trust several times. Lady Sansa is not my true love," Joffrey said, with some effort. "You are."

He had to admit that every word hurt. They made his tongue heavy, like poison, like sap. With every word, every lie, he knew what he'd always known: that he _did _want Sansa. But it was only a matter of time before he could have Sansa without worry.

Margaery's smile grew on her face. "Court is a strange place, is it not? I swear, I never know the appropriate answers, and opinions are changing all the time. I think in marriage, honesty and duty are both important. Especially for a wife."

Joffrey stared at her blankly, unsure what she was talking about. Their conversation had changed course and he was left waiting for her to go on.

"What I mean is, you are the king, the _only _king, and I will serve you. I only want your happiness, your grace. Our bond will be for that of the realm. You are free to do as you wish. I hear you enjoy hunting, that you're well-suited for the sport—"

"Yes," Joffrey put in excitedly. Here was something he could speak about again. "I should show you my crossbow! You've never seen a marksman like me!"

"Sadly," Margaery said with a small pout on her shapely lips, "I've seen none. My father won't permit me on hunts, nor will he let me gaze upon the benefits reaped by the hunters. He finds it unladylike."

"Well! You belong to me now," said Joffrey, "and I think you should accompany me on a hunt. You can watch as strike down boars and stags and bears!"

"Gods!" burst out Margaery, burying her head in his neck. "I don't know if I could endure it! Will you keep me safe?"

He could feel her breath, hot on his skin, and though he very much wanted to reply, he found words difficult to come by. He wished to tell her about the stag he'd shot down by himself with one arrow just weeks back, and how he could shoot songbirds in his sleep if he had to do it. Instead, all he could get out was a croaking, "Yes, yes, I will."

Margaery nestled her head into the crook of his neck, her breath still warming him there. "I think we should get along fine, your grace, as long as you protect me. I'll do everything for you. I will. You wish me at hunts? I'll go. I'll give you sons. You wish me in court? There I will be. You wish me to away? I will go."

Joffrey's shoulders stiffened a bit as he felt his groin harden between his legs. "You're very obedient," he breathed. "Practiced in these matters, one might say." He brought his hand down around her arm and gripped her with his nails. She drew in a breath. "Tell me, my lady, why is it you speak so knowingly yet you couldn't give my traitor uncle children?" The air was still and humid as the drizzling rain began to clatter once more.

She did not need but a second to gather her thoughts. "Renly was not interested in children," she said, and in her voice was a coldness that Joffrey found interesting.

"Go on," he said, and released her from his grasp.

"I don't think he was interested in ruling, to think of it. He said every day that you would triumph over him. He did not know why he was even trying. He told me that," she said, eying Joffrey with solemness. "He said you would fight him and win. I began to dream of you. A real man. A real king. A warrior—"

"You didn't say why you couldn't have his children!" Joffrey reiterated, though his erection stirred between his legs at her words, at her hand finding his knee and casually resting there. In the past, he would have been affronted. But Margaery moved in a way that wasn't upsetting to Joffrey. She was seemed beguiled by him; he couldn't blame her for wanting to touch him, despite everything his mother had taught him about ladies over the years.

Margaery considered her answer, pursing her lips and averting her gaze while lightly playing with Joffrey's material. "It's embarrassing," she finally gasped. "He didn't want me, he didn't want any part of it!"

"What man would deny you, sweet lady?" Joffrey asked, his eyebrow arching. His stomach churned slightly. He'd always hated Renly, even before he became his enemy. Renly had mocked him openly, loud and often, forcing Joffrey to despise him deeply. Then as Joffrey aged, he'd begun to hear the rumors. The whispers may have been true, if what Margaery was insinuating was what Joffrey thought. Renly's type of man didn't favor women, only dirtiness by nightfall and an artificial façade by daybreak.

"He was one of those disgraceful _back way riders, _wasn't he?" he whispered. "You can tell me. I wouldn't be surprised. My father said as much, said it was curious how much Renly spent on clothes and jewels and tourneys, but not a maid in sight—"

"Oh, I hadn't thought. I think it was only something about me, your grace—I wouldn't speak of what I don't know," Margaery put in hastily. "All I know is I was not meant for Renly. He is dead now, and you will be my husband. And, if it is not too bold, _you _are interested in me? Aren't you?" Her doe eyes fluttered, shimmered, as she waited for his response.

Joffrey's eyes flicked over to focus on a nearby tree, suddenly uncomfortable. "My mother thinks such conversation should wait. But yes, I find you quite attractive—"

"Oh good!" Margaery said, and her hand pressed a bit firmer on his leg. "I hadn't meant to press you. I'm just nervous, and you'll have to forgive me, but being married to Renly was both lonely and boring." She began to work her hand in a kneading, circular motion.

Joffrey settled back on the bench and sucked in air. "You know, I'll make it punishable by death." He looked back at her, though she was focused on moving her hand across his leg. "What Renly was—"

"Let's not talk about Renly. He displeased me then and does nothing for me now," Margaery breathed, and in her voice was seduction. Nothing less. Something about her was making Joffrey feel apprehension, like if he didn't prove himself quick enough she would think of him the same. And so he turned his head and kissed his new betrothed firmly, scooping up her dark curls in his hands.

If he had done this upon meeting Sansa, the girl would have likely giggled and blushed. Sansa had been pure and simple once, full of fear and embarrassment. Margaery reacted nothing like that. She placed her other hand on Joffrey's opposite knee and leaned into the kiss, inclining her head to meet him. If she'd done it before, he didn't care for it was only with that silly traitor and he was a _man. _He was the _king, _just like she'd said. Her mouth was skilled. When they broke out of the kiss, Joffrey was breathless.

She dragged her hands across him until they both ended up between his legs. Unable to react, Joffrey leaned back again. Margaery leaned over him, toying with his belt. "What are you doing?" he muttered sharply, that feeling seizing in his chest.

"There are things I've been told we can do that won't spoil our bedding," Margaery said. "I'd very much like to make you happy, my king. Would you let me try?"

"What things?" Joffrey asked haughtily, though he struggled to breathe still. "I know about everything, I've had whores, I know it all." _Lies, but true enough. I _do _know it all._

"Let me show you what a wife I can be," Margaery said, and she planted a kiss on his cheek, on his neck, his throat. There was nothing he could argue, there was no reason why she shouldn't, and so Joffrey just leaned back as she continued to tug at his clothing.

After sometime, she freed his cock of the velvet and cast his belt aside. Joffrey gritted his teeth. Her hands were skilled, too, and she began to work them over his skin, tugging and pulling and stroking him. Joffrey sputtered out a moan. _"My king," _she said, and she moved between his legs.

"You'll soil your gown," he heard himself saying. He wished he hadn't. His voice sounded childish and panicky in the quiet garden. Why was he acting like this? Hadn't he only just been thinking about fucking Margaery?

"I have other gowns," she said with a cheerful sort of laugh. Margaery, it seemed, had all the answers. He shut his eyes as tightly as he could, wondering what she'd do next though a small part of him already knew. It was several more minutes of her rubbing and touching before he felt her slide his shaft inside her mouth. It was warm and she pulled her lips tight, using her tongue to tease his flesh. Joffrey's legs became rigid at the feeling. It felt good but he didn't like it.

When he opened his eyes to see, she was moving her mouth over him quickly, her eyes gazing up at him. He gripped the bench. "No," he said.

"No?" Margaery let go of his cock to speak. "What shall I do? Faster? More tongue? It's anything you say, my king—"

Joffrey was at a loss for words, and so Margaery continued. She went slow, saliva coming out of her mouth in strings. He watched her, horrified. She had to stop. She _needed_ to stop. "No!" Joffrey said again, a bit firmer.

"You'll like it, I promise," Margaery said. "You'll like it, just tell me what I should do."

_You like it. _

"You'll do nothing different," Joffrey said, his heartbeat pounding in his chest.

She appeared to misunderstand him, taking his cock into her mouth again. When he looked down to reason with her and she caught his eyes with her own, he didn't see Lady Margaery. He saw bright crimson hair and eyes so alarmingly blue they looked half-white.

Joffrey did not think; instead, he reacted. He lurched backward, and when she let go of his flesh and looked up at him with those searing eyes, he drew up his knee and kicked her in the chin with all of his might. She shrieked and cried.

Joffrey scrambled up onto the bench, away from her, quickly fastening his robes and pulling up his tunic, hiding himself away again. When he was able to breathe, he looked down at Lady Margaery. His jaw dropped. Bright blood was flowing out of her mouth in a steady stream, mixing with tears that dripped down her face.

"My lady!" Joffrey shouted, alarmed. "I—I hadn't meant—I—"

Margaery could scarcely talk for all the crying she was doing. Her voice came out after great gusty breaths. "Did I hurt you?" she sobbed.

"Never mind it," Joffrey replied, jumping up and giving her his arm. "Are you hurt? My lady, I—"

"I think—I bit through—my tongue—" she cried. The blood was pouring fast, dripping on her chest and disappearing into the red velvet of her dress. He was helping her to her feet when Meryn and Boros arrived. Together, they hurried back to the castle. Rain poured down on them as they went.

A gasp rang out near the edge of the garden. "Margaery!" It was Lady Olenna. Joffrey turned to respond, and saw that she wasn't alone. Loras and Sansa were there, too, gathered under the covered gazebo. They appeared to be having tea. Sansa shrieked and covered her face, looking frightened.

Loras jumped to his feet at once. "What's happened to my sister?"

"I was clumsy," Margaery struggled to say, and she even smiled through the blood.

"Yes, we were only talking and she fell over a tree root," Joffrey said quickly. He hoped she would be fine, though his mind was somewhere else. Sansa tried to catch his eye but he couldn't stand to see her. Not in this state.

Soon after, the maester was called and Margaery was rushed away. Joffrey retired to his chambers, still feeling completely unsettled. Outside, the rain pounded without mercy. It sounded like the world might end, but Joffrey knew better than all that. He was much too old to think foolish things like that anymore.


	34. Play Your Part

A/N: Thank you so much for all the great reviews and favs/follows. I'm sorry it took me so long (life stuff). If you are in the US and celebrate Thanksgiving, hope you have a nice holiday. If you don't celebrate it or don't live in US, I hope you have a nice, normal Thursday. (covering my bases, haha)

Chapter 34: _Play Your Part_

* * *

. .

It took Sansa what seemed like hours upon hours to fall asleep. After Lady Margaery and Joff had returned, shouting, from their walk, Margaery's mouth spilling bright blood all down her gown, the day progressed as normal. But between the spilling, pounding rain and Sansa's tea with Loras and Olenna Tyrell, there was much to be distracted by.

Olenna had sent word for Sansa to join the Tyells' luncheon in the courtyard only an hour in advance. Wrought with nervousness and excitement, Sansa dressed in a hurry. The message from Ser Boros had specifically asked that Sansa join _Olenna and Loras_ and her heart had almost skipped out of her chest at the mere thought of sitting in close proximity to the handsome Knight of Flowers. She stepped into a fine greenish gold gown that made her hair shine bright and pulled her most ornate necklace, the gold one with the glistening bud of amber, around her neck. As her fingers worked with the metal, the blisters on her fingers hissed. In a flash, she'd recalled submerging her hand into the flames and she'd flushed greatly. Sansa was half convinced she was going completely mad.

When Boros and Meryn escorted Sansa to the yard, she fell into a curtsy for old lady Olenna. Ser Loras smiled primly at her side. Margaery and Mace were absent, but that was all well. The thought of sitting for tea with the exquisite Margaery was almost unbearable. Sansa would be polite in her presence, that was sure. And she was not quite jealous. Yet Margaery's role as upcoming queen had still changed Sansa's position and put her right back where she was in the beginning—a hostage. A hostage favored by Joff and the queen but a hostage nonetheless.

When she spied the elaborate spread of teas and refreshments atop the table, her morose and wandering thoughts were momentarily forgotten. There were plump blueberries filled several bowls with custards of lemon and cream beside, a platter full of shiny fried quail eggs and plump pork belly charred from the fire, a salad of greens and sweet nuts, and in the centre was a stack of pale yellow lemon cakes drizzled with dark plum jam.

"Lemon cakes are my favorite!" Sansa burst out as Ser Loras pulled out a chair for her to seat herself at. Her cheeks went rosy at her mistaken outburst. "I mean, forgive me, where are my manners? I'm only excited, they look so delicious, I'm sorry—"

"So many apologies," clucked Olenna. "Sweet child, I brought you here to sup as my guest, not to say sorries until your tongue grows sore. After all, what would the use be, then? We need you to help us enjoy this food. Gods know I haven't the stomach for half of this anymore!"

Sansa was taken aback by the elderly woman's blunt tone. It had been some time since Sansa wasn't expecting everything out of a person's mouth to have some riddle like quality to it. She mustered a shy smile and dropped into the thick wooden chair.

"Thank you so very much, my lady. Ser," Sansa said graciously. Loras nodded, locking eyes with her. Her naughty bedroom thoughts from the night past filled her mind and her cheeks burned redder at Loras' steady smile, his chiseled chin and light brown curls the very definition of perfection.

"Please, there's no need for all that," Olenna barked, sniffing the air, but her eyes were bright and her smile a beam. "Help yourself!"

Sansa did just so, choosing some savories and a lemon cake carefully, being careful not to be greedy. She'd learned to act meek at the dining table from her time in King's Landing. Joff didn't care for rash manners and neither did the queen. Sansa was a lady and shouldn't go stuffing her mouth like a hog, after all. She was sure Lady Margaery knew such things. Margaery wouldn't eat all the lemon cakes. She'd be gracious at the table. When Loras repeated her name, Sansa realized she'd been drifting into her thoughts again. "Beg your pardon—what was that?"

"I only wished to know how you've found your time here," Olenna said, sawing up a thick bit of pork into tiny pieces of glistening fat. "It must be difficult, being so far from home." Lady Olenna kept her head focused on her plate though Sansa could not ignore the sideways glance that Ser Loras gave her.

Sansa let her shoulders rise up and fall. "Not so difficult," she said.

"You watched upon your father being put to death, sentenced by your betrothed boy king," Olenna replied, eyes still carefully studying her food. "Or so I hear it. And you loved your father, didn't you, child?" Her tone was steady but it was quiet, so quiet Sansa could hear the birds warbling and the slightest gust of wind rattling the flowers.

"I did so," Sansa said, "though he _was _a traitor and I know why King Joffrey did it." Easily, the words slid down her lips like butter. She knew better than to believe she was ever away from the queen's ears and besides, she'd decided long ago that if King Robert hadn't demanded Father be Hand anyway none of the Bad Things would have happened.

"Yes, a king must be just and serve his realm," Olenna said. The words sounded like they should have been an agreement to Sansa's. Instead, the tone was cold and stilted.

_So much for not being a riddle, _thought Sansa glumly. There was something at work here. What, she did not know. She delivered a poised, delicate bite of egg to her mouth. "Tell me about Highgarden. Please," she urged, wanting to change the subject to something happier. "I hear it is filled with all sorts of good fruits and that the days are crisp and sunny—"

Olenna gave a short laugh. "When you see enough of a place, you seldom see what others do. When it is too hot in Highgarden, there's a smell of manure. Just like in King's Landing—"

Sansa made a face just as Loras cut in with a laugh. "Grandmother!" he exclaimed, all dimples. "Do not go scaring away fair maidens who hold interest in the beauty of Highgarden!" To Sansa he said, "You should expect to see it someday, Lady Stark. It is lush and green. The water is sweet and the wines sweeter." _I'm not Lady Stark. My mother is._

"I don't expect I'll ever see it," Sansa lamented, patting her mouth with a linen napkin. "My place is here. I expect I'll be betrothed to a lord who attends to the court and continue serving my king Joffrey." Realizing what she'd alluded to, Sansa quit talking in an abrupt fashion but Lady Olenna and Loras appeared not see the double meaning of her words. "I'll be happy to do anything Queen Cersei should like."

"You are young and the world is vast. Surely the queen would permit you to leave the Red Keep if it meant you were well provided for," Olenna responded and Sansa cocked her head.

"Excuse me, but I don't understand your meaning." Sansa looked between Loras and Olenna, wondering why and how they wanted to take her to Highgarden. What good was she to them?

"Once my granddaughter weds King Joffrey, _she _will be queen," Olenna said. "Do you see my meaning?"

Sansa blinked. "Well, yes, Lady Margaery will be Queen Margaery—and a beautiful and good queen she will be, I'm sure of it—"

"Such gay and splendid things you say, child," Olenna said sharply and Sansa momentarily was reminded of the Hound, glowering down at her through his snarling dog mail. _Life is not a song. _ "My granddaughter does not much see what good is being done keeping you here as prisoner. Particularly since the betrothal between yourself and his Grace has ended. Why keep you within these walls, hm?"

"Because—". Sansa quit talking. She should not reveal that Joff wanted her near, nor should she speak ill of King's Landing. She was stuck. Luckily, Olenna continued talking.

"Count on happier days, child," she said. "Not freedom, for a woman is seldom free. But a happy change from imprisonment and peril."

When Sansa looked up at the old woman, she was smiling oddly at her. Would Olenna be taking Sansa to Highgarden to serve some duty? To wed someone there? Sansa could not pretend it would be a bad thing. Perhaps she could start over. "I'll do what I must," Sansa said with a nod.

Loras was still looking upon her with a grin. "Would you be so kind as to honor me with your company tomorrow, my lady? I'd much enjoy to hear more about your time here."

Sansa felt herself blush anew. She nodded, though she wondered why he'd choose to keep company with _her _of all people. Could she hope to think Ser Loras held interest in her? It was a laughable thing but she agreed anyway. Rain began to clatter upon the roof of the gazebo and Sansa called for a shawl. The two of them ate in silence then while Olenna complained about this and that. She was arguing with the serving girl about the hardness of a loaf of bread when a loud, long wail rang out.

. . .

The image of lovely Margaery's wounded face troubled Sansa. What fate had befallen her? Sansa hoped she would be okay, and prayed for her recovery before lying in bed to face the ceiling. She lay there, turning to and fro, and worrying. And worrying. She wondered what Olenna was alluding to and why she had asked Sansa to lunch. _Really _why. Sansa knew there must be some hidden business. She doubted Olenna would wish Sansa to speak ill of her hosts for that would be treason. The talk of Highgarden had confused her. No one was kind without a motive, that much Sansa had learned.

The rain poured down, making frightful noises against the castle walls. It clanked and banged down the gutters and splashed in the moat. The sky was pitch black and the rain still poured and poured. Sansa had been in King's Landing over a year now and she had never seen such weather.

"_The Gods are crying," _the maid had said woefully after delivering Sansa's supper but Sansa scarcely believed it. After all, why now? They should have been crying long before this.

At last she fell into an uncomfortable slumber, twisting in her blankets to the beating sound of the droplets of water against stone and earth. She dreamed of the throne room, dimly lit by thousands of candles. Everyone from throughout the lands had gathered and there was laughter and music and much to eat and drink. Lady Margaery, _no, Queen _Margaery sat beside Joff, her head held high and her smile wide.

The room went silent as everyone waited. Sansa knew it was time for Margaery to make a speech. Joffrey caught her eyes and his mouth twisted. Margaery opened her mouth to speak and…

Screams rang out. Instead of words, out from Margaery's mouth poured millions upon millions of black, hairy spiders. They ran out of the new queen's mouth on silver threads, growing the size of dogs and charging the throne room. People ran and hid. Some fainted. The kingsguard stood to protect the queen but her eyes were wide and afraid. It was clear she was trying to scream but the spiders just came and came and came.

Sansa was strangely not afraid. She held her head up and walked toward the throne, that ugly and sharp chair. She had to walk toward the spiders. She had to. Joffrey had disappeared from view. He hadn't run. He'd simply vanished. The screams continued. A man and a woman's shouts, tangled together as one. Shouting. Sansa tried to focus on Margaery, she had to help Queen Margaery—

And then at once, her eyes sprang open and she realized that it was all some sort of nightmare. Except for the screams. The screams were real and they were coming from the corridor outside her chambers.

"You aim to tell everyone?" shouted the woman's voice in a petulant hiss. "To help who, yourself? Who are you? Who are you?"

The man's tone was just as angry but quieter. He spoke with fervor and ended with a _"Shh." _ Sansa distinctly heard him say _"wake everybody" _but his other words were lost. Before Sansa could decide whether it was real or false, she fell back asleep.

Margaery's spiders were nowhere to be found in the throne room, and no one could find Joffrey either. Cersei looked different. She was pale as a ghost and rocking on the floor. Sansa wanted to comfort her but when she touched the queen regent's shoulder it was cold as ice. _Winter is coming. _

_Winter. Is . Coming. _

Sansa awoke again and this time, there was breath against her face and eyes in the darkness. She drew her covers up and whimpered sleepily. "What happened? Who—"

"Did I scare you?" The voice was excited and charged.

"Joffrey," she said and she felt relief. Instantly, she damned herself for it. "Are you well? How is Margaery?"

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness just as his flashed away. "Well enough," he said. "That bruise ought heal by our wedding. I wouldn't expect to marry a bride with a warped lip. The swelling should go down soon enough."

"Poor Margaery," Sansa sighed. She studied his face in the dark, handsome and somber. _Why have you come? Cersei said you mustn't, she said we must stay far from each other until the time is correct. _ Sansa wouldn't dare uttering such a thing aloud, as much as she wondered.

"Poor Margaery indeed," Joff snarled, his words unsteady. "I've been thinking about it all day and all night and I've decided she deserved every bit!"

_Drunk, _Sansa knew in an instant. "If you say it, it must be true," she agreed, hoping he would be merciful to her. She wasn't glad Joff was insulting Lady Margaery but it gave her a certain satisfaction. Joffrey's wrath wasn't her fault, not if he was aiming his criticisms at Margaery and after such a short amount of time. _So long that lasted. Certainly I stayed in his favor longer than she has, it seems. _It was a surprise and the thought did nothing to ease Sansa's fears. _Poor Lady Margaery, _she thought, remembering the spiders as if it had really happened.

"Bold, bold, bold," Joffrey warbled, flipping Sansa's coverlet off her. The night chill took her and she shivered. Above them, rain pelted down with a violence to its sound. In Winterfell, rain never sounded so angry. But it was out of place in King's Landing, as curious as the behavior of the occupants of the castle. Joffrey clamored on top of her, his body warm and heavy against her legs.

Sansa twitched. "Your grace-" she said, not knowing how to react. Her privates felt hot.

"You wouldn't disobey me so, Sansa," Joffrey said, flipping his golden curls back out of his glowing eyes. "Lady Margaery, she is bold."

"Yes, she's older than me and she is ever so composed," Sansa nodded in agreement but this must have not been what Joff wanted to hear because he wound his arm back before smacking her hard across the face. She knew better than to cry. "I am sorry, my king, what would you have me say?" she asked, her cheek stinging. _Is that how your lip bled, Lady Margaery? Did you displease him, too?_

"I'd have you say nothing!" Joffrey roared. For the first time ever, Sansa had to admit he sounded a bit like his father, the late king. "I wished for Margaery to say nothing and yet she went on and on, thinking she knew just how to treat me! I don't like to be touched, not when I do not give permission to do so!" Joffrey went on, his voice strong and shrill. He put his legs on either side of Sansa, dropping sit astride her stomach as if she were a filly. She cringed. "Men command and women listen!" he continued, and slid forward.

Sansa bit her lip. He continued to move across her body until his groin nearly touched her chin. He wished her to say nothing and so she waited, even though her heart pounded in rhythm with the rain.

Joff undid his nightclothes, exposing his manhood to her. She hadn't seen him in this way, hadn't looked up upon him in some time, not since Stannis had failed in taking over the castle. "I'll have things how I want them!" he said wildly. "I'll not be taken for some fool!"

"You're no fool," Sansa said, momentarily forgetting he'd told her not to speak. She cringed and yet he seemed to have forgotten, too.

"I can _do _this," Joffrey yelled. "I can stand it. I'm no child!"

Sansa had no idea what he was talking about. Suddenly, his words did not matter because he was shoving it, his boy shaft, toward her lips and with his other hand he was prying her mouth open. In a fierce move, he was inside her cheeks. Sansa choked as Joffrey sucked in air through his sharp teeth. He was salty and warm and tasted like perfumes and sweat. Sansa tried her best not to gag as he pushed in harder, jutting his hips. _Gods, _she thought, sucking with all her might despite the odd angle, the off taste.

"I can do this," he chanted. "I can- I can _do _this- I am a man!"

She choked and gagged as he entered her mouth harder and harder, gripping her hair in his closed fist. He let out a mewl and grabbed Sansa by the throat, his nails digging in hard. She squeaked sharply, choking, and then finally he let go. The hot rush of liquid hit Sansa at the back of her throat. Horrified, she broke out coughing on the sharply sour taste as Joffrey collapsed atop her, cradling her in his arms.

"Her name was Lil," he muttered after sometime, his voice thick and breath soaked with wine. "And she had bright red hair. Like yours."

"Who?" Sansa asked, completely confused.

"Who what?" Joffrey asked, as if he hadn't said a thing at all. With that, he stumbled off her and was gone.

The rain fell harder than before. Tears ran down Sansa's face, matching it bit for bit.

...

In the morning, Sansa sat up in bed and wondered what was real and what wasn't. The spiders, the ghost voices, Joffrey's visit...

Then she spied herself in the mirror and noted the red welts where his nails had been. _He depends on me still, _she noted. _I will not be cast out of his favor, not so easily. _


	35. Eyes of Ice and Hair of Fire

A/N: As usual, you're all awesome. Thanks for the encouragement. Warnings for all the things mentioned in Ch 1. It's going to continue to get darker from here. Joffrey is one messed up individual but not without reason.

* * *

_Chapter 35 – _Eyes of Ice and Hair of Fire

...

* * *

When Joffrey awoke, his head felt as though it had cracked open. He was splayed out across his bed, breeches half-open and small clothes disheveled. He did not recall how he'd gotten there nor how his clothing had gone askew. Something about this realization made him feel a sensation like hundreds of snakes were wriggling inside his stomach. Too afraid of opening his eyes to the light of day, he pulled himself along the mattress and promptly got sick over the side of the four-poster. Unlike the time he'd thrown up in front of Uncle Tyrion, this gave him no sense of relief. He continued to vomit until the red, stinking snakes had all been ejected from his guts. He lay there, clumsily searching for any trace of memory of the prior evening.

_Wine. _That much was obvious, he knew, retching. He remembered having a few goblets. A blonde handmaiden had brought a large flagon of dark red and Joffrey had watched her pour the very first serving. She set it alongside his supper, a plate of grilled fish and boiled potatoes with a side of meat pie. He had snarled at her to be gone, that he also remembered. He wanted to be completely alone. He hadn't touched the food, he recalled.

Joffrey continued to try and retrace his steps. He remembered downing a cup of wine in several gulps while watching the rain beating down outside his chamber window, thoughts of Margaery's bloody face swirling in his head. Her wide doe eyes and curled smile, dark head of hair bobbing at his thighs and then it had all gone wrong. _But why? _The answer seemed just below the surface, like putting on a suit of armor and suddenly getting a terrible itch at the small of his back. _Wine. More wine. _There had been a lump growing in Joffrey's throat and he did not wish to think more about Margaery's mouth or her bleeding lip and so instead he emptied another goblet of wine. Then another. Then another.

He'd remembered how disturbed he'd been by her spitty lips, how he'd imagined her with red hair and blue eyes. Had he imagined her as Sansa? _No, Sansa did not turn his insides to rot._ He hadn't wanted to think any more and so instead, he had continued to drink. After that, the world had gone completely black. Perhaps he preferred it that way.

King Joffrey finally gave up on piecing together his evening. Instead, he lay across the bed and let the thoughts come. Dark and pretty pictures streamed through his head. Sansa's mouth open and the sound of her choking. Margaery swiveling her head, her throat coated in blood. Rain falling, horses squalling. Swords smacking. The pictures flew and changed.

And suddenly, he found himself thinking backward. The thoughts rushed in like men on quick horses and though Joffrey wanted to run ahead of them, he couldn't manage it. Not this time. He'd been avoiding this void, this dark pit of secrets, for years and years now. He'd been told to forget it, and he'd listened without question for once. But it was too much. It all came back to him there on the vomit-drenched bed, and he felt the hot sickness running through him but there was nowhere for him to hide.

* * *

_Nine Years Ago_

_. . ._

Summer lightening flickered in the humid air, trailing across the pink and blue sky like veins. Myrcella shrieked, her wide, green eyes filling with tears. Tommen followed her example, of course, emitting a timid squeak of a scream as well. His fat cheeks grew pale as he made noise.

"Shut up," Prince Joffrey said haughtily. "It won't hurt you. Don't be stupid." He was newly seven years old and had decided he was _very _grown-up particularly compared to his siblings. Myrcella was four years old now. Tommen was even littler, only _two_. Father said he had to be nice to Myrcella and Tommen but Joffrey hated them more and more with every day. Myrcella was bad enough, timid and tedious. Tommen was loads worse, a real squalling little pig of a baby.

They were good for some things. It was certainly funny to scare them or play jokes on them but Joffrey was often bored with their company, with their tears and protests. There were some children at court, except Joffrey wasn't permitted to play with them because they were common and he was a prince. Mother said he was too good for their friendship, that princes only needed other little princes and princesses to play with. She may have been right but that did not make his siblings any more tolerable.

Joffrey fixed his emerald gaze back upon the large tree in the courtyard, took another rock in his fist and launched it at the very top of the branches. The birds let out cries as they flew off. Myrcella squeaked and Joffrey sent her a loathing glance. He was glad that Myrcella wasn't going to be his queen.

Last week, Uncle Jaime was talking about how Myrcella and Joffrey should be married. Joffrey liked to eavesdrop on anyone and everyone, and he'd spied on Mother and his uncle discussing how sweet it would be if they were wed, how perfect a match it would be. From behind the curtains, Joffrey had considered their words. Mother had already talked to him about when he would be king and how his lady queen would bear his children. Myrcella was stupid but if she was his queen, she'd belong to him and have to do everything he said. He liked that idea.

He decided he'd like to teach her the things he knew, the night things. So he'd crawled into Myrcella's bed and pressed his hand over her mouth while she writhed underneath him. Everything had gone well until Joffrey pushed his knee hard against the space between her legs and took his hand off her so he could kiss her on the lips. Myrcella had started to scream right then.

Father had caught them and he'd been _very _mad. As was the usual routine when Father got angry, Joffrey talked fast. He told Father Myrcella was going to wed him and so he was just showing her what to do. Father seemed baffled. _"We're not the damned Targaryens" _he'd shouted, _"and you ought not play like this with your sister!"_ Joffrey had said, _"Well, Mother and Uncle Jaime want us to so I was only listening to them." _Father grabbed Joffrey by the arm and shoved him back in his room. The next morning, Mother sat down with him and stroked his hair while she spoke in a slow, serious voice. Father watched them from the corner of the room, glaring.

Joffrey had a distinct feeling that Father didn't like him anymore. Therefore, Joffrey knew he'd have to act really good and impress him so that he'd love him again. Mother, in contrast, was always on his side and needed little to no convincing of Joffrey's innocence. He'd begun to realize how his parents worked. _Against _each other.

_"Joffrey," _Mother had said, _"were you listening in on me and Uncle Jaime?" _Joffrey said nothing, just stared at her through dead eyes. What was the point? She knew he had been. Why have to admit it aloud? _"We were only talking. You aren't going to marry Myrcella. Some families have wed brother and sister. Your _father _thinks it would not be best." _She said "Father" like it burned her tongue.

_"Good," _Joffrey had said. _"I hate Myrcella."_

_"You only say that," _said Mother fondly, smoothing his curls.

_"I. Hate. Her." _Father let out a sigh and left the room, apparently satisfied enough with the exchange. When he was gone, Mother lowered her voice.

_"Why did you go to her chambers?" _Her tone was sweeter now. _"Did you like being alone with your sister, Joffrey?"_

_"No,"_ Joffrey hissed. _"We were just playing a game. I was showing her how to be my queen." _ He could tell her he was showing her the things he'd learnt in the dark, but Mother didn't like to hear it. Not to mention, the redhead girl forbade him from saying anything.

She gave a light laugh. _"That isn't how you should show her. She was frightened. You__ mustn't hurt her. You must be kind and gentle to her—"_

_"That is not fun," _said Joffrey, and pulled out of his mother's grasp. Her hands in his hair were making him feel funny. She had told him he shouldn't do the Bad Things but when she played in his hair he felt all warm and twisty inside. Mother didn't let him kiss her like the girl let him do even when he tried, and she told him he ought not to kiss the nursemaids like that, either.

That girl did not come as often as she used to, not anymore. He hadn't seen her since his last Name Day, not after Mother went mad and went into a fury and Father swore a lot. Mother stopped sleeping with Joffrey soon after that and the nights went back to normal. But Joffrey was almost disappointed, though he did not know why. He wanted to feel it, he wanted to feel her do the night things but she was nowhere to be found. Now to get the good feeling inside, he had to find other ways to release. Rubbing his pillow, sticking his fist in Myrcella's mouth… Joffrey knew that soon he'd get to show Tommen how to feel it, too. He could show him where to rub, what to do.

_"I love you with all my heart," _Mother said, _"no matter what you do." _

That was how the conversation had ended. From that point on, no matter where Joffrey went, the Burned Man was there. Now was no exception. The Burned Man stood several paces back from Joffrey's siblings, his face twisted in a sullen expression. Father had made certain to tell Joffrey that the Burned Man was going to guard his sister's bedroom door. He said his name was Clegane, that people called him the Hound, and he was there to watch them. Joffrey did not care. He was the prince. If he wanted inside Myrcella's room, the man wasn't going to stop him. So far, the man did not seem to care what Joffrey did or did not do. He only stood near by, looking angry. He did not even try to make Joffrey stop killing the birds, like the nursemaids used to do. For that, Joffrey was glad. Although Joffrey didn't like anyone much, he liked the Hound more than the others.

When Joffrey finally struck down a bluebird and sent it sailing to its death at the foot of the tree, Tommen began to cry so hard his breath came out in wails. Joffrey strode over to the bird, cackling all the way.

"Don't, Joff!" pleaded Myrcella, but she went silent when Joffrey turned to curl his lip at her. No doubt she remembered just what he could do to her when he got her alone and Gods be good, she'd better never forget. Joffrey's gaze slid to the watching man. He did nothing, not even when Joffrey stomped on the bird so hard that its bones crunched underneath his boot. The sound made his heart pound excitedly. His knees buckled. But Tommen and Myrcella ruined the blissful noise by crying in unison like a pair of rabbits being slaughtered.

Angrily, Joffrey collected another stone from the ground and turned back to them. He raised the rock in his fist in front of Tommen and then everything blurred. Joffrey was now being suspended in the air. The Hound had lifted him in one strong arm and plucked the rock from his grasp, letting it drop back down to the ground.

"Not of that, your grace, none of that," said the Hound and Joffrey was too stunned to argue. Tommen and Myrcella were sent inside to take lessons while Joffrey continued to kill songbirds, the Hound staying at his heels and encouraging him with hoarse laughter.

**. . .**

It was around that time that the girl, the night phantom with eyes like ice and hair like fire, came back to Joffrey as he slept.

"It is me," she said, half-singing. She woke him with her hand inside his clothes and his eyes fluttered open, hard and cold. Joffrey said nothing to her at first. As usual, he was half-asleep as she went to work on him, the thoughts in his head a woozy, sleepy haze. "I am here," she said. "It's Lil." _Lil. _Her name. She'd told him once before. Once he'd asked where she'd come from and she said she'd been sent for.

He was silent for some time and then finally spoke. "Where were you?" he asked defiantly, mouth opening and closing with her motions. "And how did you get back in here? My father has someone guarding the hallway now, you know-" But that was only near Myrcella's chambers, he remembered. The Hound stood there now to keep Joffrey out. He knew because he'd tried again and the Hound had to put him back to bed. Father had slapped him good and hard across the head that time.

"So many questions," she said, the familiar smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "How is my prince? How is my future king?"

"You ought not be here," Joffrey said coldly, but his knees buckled at her touch the way they'd done when he killed the birds and visited his sister. The waves of heat made his face feel flushed. "My mother says no one's allowed to touch me. Not unless I say so. And she says you've done a bad thing-"

"You told her about me?" Her voice was sharp and disapproving. She looked less nice like that.

"No. You said I couldn't tell," he said quickly. "So I didn't tell." He didn't _want _to fear her, but before she'd stopped coming she'd been annoyed with him and she'd struck him hard. He didn't like that. It ruined the good feeling, left a hot and miserable feeling burning on his face.

"Good," she said. "Good boy-"

"I'm not a dog," Joffrey said hotly. He thought about the Hound and wished he was here now. _But_ w_hat would he do?_, Joffrey wondered, helpless.

"No. You are a prince. A handsome prince," she replied, and her hand kept going down. "Besides, there is nothing wrong with this. This is what I am here for, this is what boys need to learn to do." She sounded so insistent, so matter-of-fact, that it must be true. "Haven't you missed me?" she asked and giggled.

"Maybe," Joffrey said, eyes narrowing. _Maybe, yes, no._ Words were nothing when she was around. They spilled out of his mouth and made little sense and her words made even less. But he hadn't missed her. He'd only missed the good feeling.

He settled back and let his head spin. She used her mouth next and he thought about the garden. His siblings' cries, fumbling on top of Myrcella... He thought of Uncle Jaime and Mother, and Father's anger, and he drifted in and out of realness. The sounds were revolting and hypnotizing. Her eyes never stopped watching him, cold and blue. She was pretty but the sucking and sniveling offended him. The spit dripped off her lips, making her mouth a wet hole. A hole that would swallow him up if he wasn't careful, just like the dragons down in the Red Keep. He stared upward at the canopy, imagining what it would be like to just disappear.

There was a clatter and her mouth went away. Joffrey snapped his eyes forward and she was sitting up on the bed, holding her arm over her bare breasts. He couldn't say how it happened but suddenly, his redheaded ghost girl was wide-eyed and chattering _sorries _to someone he couldn't see lurking in the shadows of his chambers. She looked young then. She looked small and afraid when the hands came out through the darkness to meet her.

Joffrey watched without blinking as the hands tightened around her neck. Lil stopped saying sorries. She started making awful sounds instead, sounds like when her mouth was on him but much worse. Retching and choking, coughing and sputtering sounds. He watched as, wordlessly, the familiar figure pulled at the the redhead girl until her face was near as blue as her eyes. She was only a few feet from him as she struggled and quivered. There was a purple silken scarf gripping her small neck, held tight by the white hands. He could see the blood pooling in her empty eyes before she stopped gasping and her head went limp. She dropped forward and crumpled onto the bed at Joffrey's toes.

He stared at her without feeling. Joffrey knew about death and that was exactly what she was now, _dead,_ just like the rhyme the stable boy sang aloud:

_My lady went South and the king cried, 'Your head!' My lady spit treason. My lady is dead.  
I wept yet I knew what the king chose was best. Keep your tongue free of treason or you burn like the rest._

Interesting. Dead meant gone, that he knew from Father's talk of war but Joffrey had never gotten to see a dead person before as much as he'd begged to. He'd only seen dead animals and that was only fun for awhile. This was a real dead girl, a girl he'd known.

Greedily, he stared and ignored the embrace he was given. She was violet-faced, he noted, and her eyes were open and still teeming with blood. Her nose bled, too. The crimson river dripped onto his maroon coverlet and made a wine-colored lake. The scarf pooled at her scarred neck. Her soft hair spilled over her naked shoulders. And there was her cruel, legendary mouth: wide, slack and still so pretty. Forever still now. It was a little funny.

Then, breathy words interrupted the observation. "My Joffrey. Listen to me. She will _never _touch you again."

* * *

_Present_

**_. . . _**

There in the stillness of the red-walled room, Joffrey suddenly remembered what he'd forgotten. It was a curious feeling, almost like seeing an unlikable person and trying to avoid him to no avail. With a deep feeling of dread, Joffrey realized that although he'd remembered a few choice fragments he'd long since buried, he had no idea how the pieces all fit together. He did not know who the red haired girl was, or exactly when this had happened. He remembered her dead but he did not know what had happened with her afterward. The ill feeling within him grew.

Why hadn't he remembered this until now? What had happened after? Why couldn't he recall? It was a very scary feeling to be so unsure about his own life and Joffrey's confusion was compounded by his throbbing head. Elevated nerves gave way to anger, and he knew one thing was certain. He had to speak to the only person he knew could tell him what had really happened when he was only a boy.

As much as he loathed the thought of it, he had to speak to Mother.


End file.
